


so call it what you want (yeah, call it what you want to)

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American university because I don't know anything else, Grima abuses swear words, Grima and Robin are identical twins, Happy Ending, Lucina and Chrom are cousins, M/M, Past Character Death, Rating is primarily for language, note that Lucina/Robin is plot relevant but Lucina never appears in person, references to suicide (not of a major character)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: Grima only meant to get back at his twin brother. Instead, he falls in love... But with Chrom thinking he's Robin, can this be anything but a disaster?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *ahem* Hi I'm Dawn and I'm deep in Chrom/Grima hell.
> 
> What, you mean nobody WANTED a college au with Grima as the protagonist? ... Actually, that's fair. I'm not going to lie, it was really hard to adapt Grima to this setting. But there was an approximately 0% chance that anyone else was going to write this, so if I wanted it to exist (and I did), I figured I should just suck it up and write it myself.
> 
> It was based on a prompt [here.](http://eff-supp.tumblr.com/post/118625562196/michael-cliffoblue-master-post-of-aus-that-need) ("I look a lot like someone in one of your classes and every other day you come up to me and start talking to me like I'm them au") It, uh, evolved a bit in the process of writing, though.
> 
> And uh... you might recognize the title from Taylor Swift's [Call It What You Want](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V54CEElTF_U). Listen... it FITS, okay? It fits Grima so well in this AU that I was actually shook.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this fic! At the very least you... probably haven't seen anything like this for the pairing, right? Haha...

“Don’t tell me you’re skipping class again.”

Grima doesn’t bother to look up from his phone. Triple tap, triple explosion. His score goes up, but he hardly cares to look at it. The numbers don’t matter. He taps again. Boom.

“Grima!” 

His brother grabs him on the shoulder, forcing his attention off the mobile game.

“Fuck off,” Grima says. “They don’t even take attendance.”

“That doesn’t mean you should skip, especially when you’re just going to play a phone game you don’t even like,” Robin protests. 

“I’ll have you know that I love this game,” Grima insists. “It’s my favorite.”

“Oh, really?” Robin snatches the phone from him. “What’s it called again?”

Grima curls his hands into fists. He doesn’t know, damn it, nor does he care! He just wants to blow up some fucking buildings, that’s all!

“It’s called give me back my fucking phone before I fucking murder you in your sleep, Robin,” he growls, grabbing at his stupid brother’s stupid arm.

“Only if you agree to go to class,” Robin says, pulling his arm away. Grima doesn’t let go, and is instead dragged off of his bed.

“There’s no reason for me to go!” Grima insists. He is stronger than his twin and can beat him in a fight. He does not have to rely on his brother’s crappy bargaining efforts to get his phone back. “I’m smarter than the other students, I’m smarter than the damn professor, and I fucking hate their guts, anyway.”

“Come on, I know your grades are good, but think how much better they would be if you’d actually show up to class once in a while,” Robin says. “And I’m sure everyone would love to have you contributing to the discussion. There’s no need to keep your smarts to yourself.”

Robin is such a goody-two-shoes. He thinks the best of everyone and everything. Grima knows better. If he acts intelligent, his classmates will use him for their own purposes. If he plays dumb, they will scorn him for being “inferior.” The professor is an idiot, always pandering to the lowest common denominator in an attempt to get tenure so she can stop pretending to love teaching and focus on the research projects she _really_ cares about.

Everything about this class is infuriating. The only good option is to not go at all.

“Look, I promise I won’t bother you for the rest of the week if you go now,” Robin says. He lets go of Grima’s phone because he knows he has no choice; Grima can and will do this for hours (which would necessarily prevent him from going to class, so Robin would fail in his purpose, anyway).

“Today is Wednesday,” Grima mutters. “You won’t utter a thing until Sunday? Not even to invite me to that stupid pizza event this Friday?”

Robin sighs.

“Yes, I promise,” he agrees. “Even though you’re the only person on this planet who doesn’t like free food…”

Grima ignores his brother’s grumbling, instead grabbing his backpack from the corner of the room. It probably doesn’t even have the right materials in it, since he hasn’t touched it since Monday (when he has a chemistry class with fucking in-class quizzes every time… though at least his history class in the afternoon is decent enough). Not that he really cares.

“How do you know I’ll go to class, anyway?” Grima asks. “I could fuck off to the ice cream shop, for all you know. You going to trail me or something?”

“Of course not,” Robin says, crawling onto his bed. “Anyway, wherever you go, at least you’ll be outside this room. You’d be having a much better time if you’d actually try to make some friends, you know.”

Grima does responds by slamming the door behind him.

Stupid brother. There is nothing wrong with his room. It is small, yes, especially when both he and Robin are there (though Robin usually is not, except to sleep at night), but it is comfortable, well-equipped with everything he needs for both study and leisure, and most importantly, not in fucking public.

At least the university library has private study rooms. Grima will simply go to one of those. He will come back in a couple hours, Robin will be obligated not to annoy him for several days, and the trouble will ultimately be worth it.

He tries not to grit his teeth as he walks, lest some high-and-mighty do-gooder come along to gallantly aid him by asking if he is “feeling okay.”

But despite his best efforts to avoid inviting conversation, conversation finds him anyway.

“Hey! Robin!”

Grima barely has time to look up before someone’s arm is slung around his shoulder.

“I thought you were staying in to study tonight,” a blue-haired man says. “But this is great timing! I told you about my sister Lissa, right? The one who’s a year younger than me but graduated early because she’s just that scary? Yeah, this is her.”

Next to the man, a blonde-haired girl giggles.

“Hi, Robin. Chrom’s told me a LOT about you. He’s lucky he met you, y’know? ‘Cause I’ve never seen a wannabe politician be so bad at public speaking. Can you believe this idiot?”

Grima starts to put the pieces together. Robin is taking a public speaking course this semester. He must share it with Chrom. And Chrom wanted to introduce him to his sister… so would that make them friends? 

Grima opens his mouth to tell these people to fuck off and find the right brother when Chrom speaks again.

“Now, now, Lissa,” Chrom says, chuckling. “Don’t be so mean. Robin isn’t used to the delicate balance of sibling affections. He’s an only child.”

Grima nearly chokes. Robin’s a _what_ now?

Well, fuck him.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lissa,” Grima says, blinking in faux-shyness like his brother (if he can call him that anymore!) would do. “And Chrom, I’m so happy to run into you! I meant to ask you in class earlier today, but…” He leans forward. “Do you want to come over and practice on Friday evening? We have that big speech coming up next week.”

It takes all of Grima’s willpower not to smirk. Robin isn’t going to be around on Friday, so when Chrom comes and is “stood up,” well… Ha! Robin deserves to have all of his friends hate him! Fucking liar. “Only child,” what a bastard.

Chrom perks up. Grima likens the expression to a dog receiving a treat.

“Sure,” Chrom agrees, grinning. “You know I need all the help I can get. Are you staying in the dorms, too?”

“Fifth floor,” Grima says.

“Oh, great. I’m on the third,” Chrom says. “Should I meet you outside your hall?”

“Oh, yes, that would be great,” Grima says, inwardly cackling. “I’ll come out and let you in.”

“Then you’ll need my number,” Chrom says. After pulling out a piece of paper, he quickly scribbles down his number and tears it off. “And I’ll need yours, of course,” he continues, looking up expectantly.

Hesitantly, Grima writes down his own number on Chrom’s sheet.

He does not normally give out this information. He currently has but three contacts. His mother, though he never voluntarily calls her; his father, though he cannot call a dead man; and Robin, who is occasionally entertaining enough to bother.

But then, it’s not like he has any intention of keeping contact with Chrom. In all likelihood, they will never talk again.

He puts the number into his phone nevertheless, just for the sake of having a contact that is not his blood relative.

He parts from Chrom and Lissa with false cheer, but unfortunately, when he gets to the library, the time he meant to occupy with studying somehow gets spent on thoughts of his Robin instead. It’s not fair, how easily Robin charms people. Then again, he is majoring in communications… But of course, he is only furthering a talent he has always been possessed of. Grima’s choice to major in history derives not from any skill with the subject, but merely from a vague fascination with the past. The world was not a better place, but at least you could force people to answer for their actions with a duel to the death.

Robin the communications major and Chrom the future politician. They complement each other perfectly.

Grima can’t help but hope that his interference will ruin that partnership before it can begin.

But it is not a very strong hope. Robin is a flame that draws all manners of insects to him. Grima is nothing but the wind. It is a miracle that Chrom did not immediately notice the difference, even with their identical appearance.

Robin tries to talk to him when he returns to their shared room, but Grima is hardly in the mood to speak to him. But Robin keeps his agreement not to bother Grima, and so he soon heads out to dinner with some of his friends. 

Grima spends the rest of the evening blowing up virtual buildings. He still doesn’t know what the damn app is called.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to get pizza with me?” Robin asks on Friday, because he obviously can’t fucking help himself.

“Get out of here already,” Grima says. He is perfectly content to stay in and play Grand Theft Auto all night. It is much more fun when Robin is not there to tell him that he is not playing it very efficiently (for Robin never seems to understand that the only true objective of the game is to create mass chaos and that the missions _don’t matter._ ).

“Okay…” Robin hesitantly agrees. “I might be out a while, though. Since you won’t come out with me, I thought I would meet up with my friends…”

Grima scowls and bites back the urge to ask if _these_ friends know he has a brother.

“It would be just as well if you didn’t come back at all,” he mutters.

He does not look up at Robin, and the next thing he hears is the quiet click of a closing door.

Good riddance.

He lies down on his bed and drowns his thoughts in pixelated destruction.

This distraction occupies him for a couple of hours until he is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Robin?” a muffled voice calls.

A familiar muffled voice…

“Shit. Chrom,” Grima hisses under his breath. “What the _fuck?_ ”

Wasn’t he supposed to wait in the hall? Grima had just assumed he would leave after nobody came… But no, apparently some idiot had let him in and told him which room was Robin’s (which was completely against dorm rules, not that Grima would ever snitch).

“Ah… hello,” Grima says as he opens the door. He swallows, unsure of what to say… But no, it’s not a matter of what he would say. Chrom came to see Robin. He has to be Robin. “I’m so sorry, Chrom. I just lost track of time and…” He waves his hands in a gesture of vagueness. “Are you sure you texted me?”

“Unless the number was wrong,” Chrom says, frowning. “But that’s alright; I… Robin, you look...”

Grima takes a step back, suddenly fearful.

But Chrom just shakes his head.

“You aren’t sick, are you?” he asks. “If you need to rest, I can leave you be…”

Grima looks down at himself. He’s dressed in sweatpants and the only hoodie he ever puts on (his father had liked it, too; it looked refined). His clothing is crumpled, and his eyes are somewhat strained from staring at a screen for the past few hours. He is not sick, but he can’t blame Chrom for suspecting it. And it gives him a way out of this situation.

But…

Even if his plan to make Chrom angry at Robin failed, perhaps Grima can still fuck with his brother’s head a little. All he has to do is keep pretending to be Robin (an easy enough feat given that Chrom has no idea that Grima exists), and surely there are bound to be misunderstandings between them. Perhaps enough to ruin their friendship.

It really would do for _one_ person not to worship the ground Robin walks on.

“I’m fine, Chrom,” Grima says in a pleasant voice that hardly suits him. “Please, come in. I’m just stressed from finishing up my own work. I might feel better after we go through your speech.”

Chrom sits down on Grima’s bed (there not really being enough room anywhere else) and casts an amused glance at Grima’s computer.

“Work, huh?” he asks with a hint of a smirk.

Grima freezes, then slams his laptop closed.

Chrom laughs.

“We’ve all been there,” he says. “I had a midterm paper in my English class due this past Monday, and what do you think I was doing all of last week? Marathoning Pokemon UltraSun, as though I haven’t played through it three times already.”

Pokemon… Robin likes the series. Grima likes it, too, although his preferences in the creatures are very different from his brother’s.

“Can’t stick with a team?” he asks. “That’s why I keep replaying the games. That, and I don’t care to battle competitively.”

Shit, he probably shouldn’t have said that. Robin loves competitive battling; he lives for strategy. Grima would much rather just curbstomp through the main game. In that world, Grima is the greatest trainer in the land. In the real world, there’s always some cheating bastard who pulls out a shiny Mega Rayquaza to ruin everything.

“Something like that, I guess,” Chrom says, smiling. “But… now I have to ask, you know? Which Pokemon is your favorite? Mine is Absol.”

“The harbinger of disaster?” Grima asks incredulously. _He_ is rather partial to it, but Chrom doesn’t seem the type.

“Absol doesn’t cause the disasters!” Chrom insists. “It can sense when a disaster is coming, and then it warns people. It’s being helpful!”

“If you say so,” Grima says, shrugging. “In any case, _my_ favorite is… uh…”

He stops suddenly, unsure whether he should give Robin’s favorite or his own. Robin likes Ampharos, always has, and was thrilled when it got a Mega Evolution. Grima, on the other hand…

“Necrozma,” he says aloud. “Its Ultra form is magnificent.”

The truth is fine. This information is so trivial that Robin will likely never even find out what was said here.

“Ah, it is. So full of light,” Chrom says. “But then… isn’t its fall tragic? To be in constant pain, forever seeking the light it lost…”

Grima looks away.

“Well look at us, stalling again,” he says. “Come on Chrom, you’d better let me hear your speech. I know it isn’t about Pokemon.”

“I might be more focused on it if it was,” Chrom jokes. “But okay, okay, let me just find it…”

“You don’t have it memorized?” Grima asks.

“W-What?” Chrom begins searching his backpack in sudden panic.

“What?” Grima repeats back.

Chrom flings a half-crumpled piece of paper out of his bag and onto the bed. He smooths it over a couple times before leaning in to read it.

“No… Okay… It doesn’t have to be memorized...” Chrom breathes in relief. “God, Robin, you nearly scared me to death!”

Grima looks down nervously. He has heard of Robin’s speech assignment and he has heard Robin practice it. But he does not know the specifics of it.

“Can I see that sheet?” he asks. “Mine is, uh…” He makes a vague gesture.

Fortunately, Chrom hands it over.

“You’re right, it says you don’t have to memorize it,” Grima says. “But… You should do it anyway. It’s not going to sound like you mean it if you’re reading every word off the page.”

Grima is no communications genius, but he knows this, at least, is true. Speech is more about manipulation than anything. Liars win support with smooth words, while honest people who stutter do not convey an impressive-enough force. Such has been the way of the fickle world since speech began.

“I… I know what you mean,” Chrom says. “But I’m not sure I have time to do that at this point. We have to speak on Monday…”

“That’s plenty of time.” Grima shrugs. At least, _he_ could do it in that time. “Go on and read what you have to me as a warm up, I guess. For all I know, it’s shit and needs to be redone, anyway.”

He winces slightly. There is no way Robin would say that last part. But Chrom doesn’t seem to notice… or to be offended, for that matter.

“Er, alright,” Chrom says. He clears his throat. “Since ancient times, the notion of justice…”

The speech itself is moderately interesting, Grima supposes. It’s not as though he’s done the research himself, so for all he knows the facts could be wrong. And five minutes is obviously not enough time to give a comprehensive explanation of anything, let alone how different societies treat the concept of justice.

“You should have picked a narrower topic,” he says. “But… I liked it well enough. It will sound better memorized.”

“You think?” Chrom asks hopefully. “I wasn’t sure what kind of thing I could talk about for five minutes straight… What’s your speech about, Robin?”

“My speech?” Grima’s pulse speeds up. Quickly, he tries to remember what Robin has been talking about for the past week. Something about nonverbal signals? Or was it symbols…? Grima had been trying to ignore him.

“Well, you’ll find out on Monday,” he says, shrugging in an attempt to be casual.

“What? That’s not fair!” Chrom protests. “Robin, tell meee.”

“No,” Grima says. “I’m helping _you._ I don’t need help, so there’s no reason for me to share.”

Chrom gives him a pleading look. Grima rolls his eyes, not feeling even remotely compelled to relent. Not that he could, anyway.

“It’s not anything exciting. Yours is more engaging,” Grima continues. “Come on; give me those notes. Do it off the top of your head.”

Chrom makes a sound of protest as Grima snatches away his papers.

“But I’m not ready to do that!” he argues.

“You will be by Monday,” Grima insists. “And look, if you can’t be bothered to remember your own speech, your audience won’t bother to remember it, either.”

Chrom grits his teeth.

“Harsh,” he mutters.

“But true,” Grima says.

“I… can appreciate that,” Chrom says, though he clenches his fists into the sides of his jeans. “Okay, I’ll do it… Uh, I just… Let me…” He takes a deep breath and heaves out a sigh. “Right, so… Justice is a concept… Uh, since ancient times… No, wait… In ancient times, justice…”

They spend the next three hours working together on Chrom’s speech (although there are more than a couple of breaks interspersed. Chrom is… engaging). Grima is not sure how long they would have continued on had he not soon received a text from Robin.

**— I’ll be back in half an hour. Will you PLEASE leave the door unlocked for me? My hands are going to be full.**

Grima slams his phone down on the table, interrupting Chrom mid-speech.

“What…?” Chrom starts.

“You have to go,” Grima says, cutting him off. “Right now.”

“Wait, w-why?” Chrom exclaims as Grima throws his notes back at him.

“Because my… roommate… is coming back,” Grima says. “And he’s…”

He pauses. How _would_ Robin describe him, if he were forced to.

“He’s an asshole,” Grima says. Robin would probably tone it down to that. “I don’t want you to meet him,” he continues, following Robin’s obvious sentiment. “So just go.”

“Well… Alright… It _is_ your room, so I have no right to protest...” Chrom says. His eyes meet Grima’s somewhat awkwardly. “Er, thank you for helping me this evening. It… did a lot for me, I think.”

“It was nothing,” Grima says. “Just basic sense. The professor would have told you eventually, anyway.”

“After it was too late, probably,” Chrom says. “Seriously, don’t discount yourself.”

His smile lingers in Grima’s mind even after he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

It takes Grima a moment to sit back down. This is probably the longest social interaction he’s had since arriving at university. And it went… well?

But of course it did. He was acting as Robin, and Robin is good at everything.

He goes back to his bed, sighing as he lies down. He leaves the door unlocked for his brother, if only to save himself from having to hear Robin whine outside the door. Soon enough, he hears Robin enter.

“Grima? You up?” he calls quietly.

“Unfortunately,” Grima replies. Turning over to face Robin, he can see that he really _does_ have his hands full. In one hand is a bag full of books, and it looks fairly heavy. In his other hand, he carries a bag from some fast food chain. Grima is pretty sure there’s one right next to the book store, now that he thinks about it.

“Should I even ask how your evening was, or should I just assume you’re going to tell me it was lame?” Robin asks as he sets his books down. He really didn’t need to buy any more, but the idiot just can’t help himself around pretty covers.

“The evening was… pleasant…” Grima says. It’s surprising, but true. Chrom is sort of entertaining. Of course, he’s friends with Robin, so he’s probably half-blind (Robin’s fucking brilliance blinds everyone). But still. “I did some work and now I’m resting.”

“Oh. Well. Huh.” Robin nods approvingly. “That’s great, Grima. Did you get dinner?”

“Uh…” Grima might have had time to eat if Chrom hadn’t shown up, but…

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Robin says. “Here.”

He tosses the bag of food onto Grima’s bed. Grima does not reach for it, but he can see a wrapped-up hamburger and some fries inside.

“I don’t want your leftovers,” he protests. Even if his stomach _is_ growling.

“They aren’t leftovers. _I_ had pizza, remember?” Robin crosses his arms. “I bought that for you so you wouldn’t wake me up at two in the morning to microwave pizza rolls again. I didn’t care for that last weekend.”

Grima is aware. Robin had been out until midnight the previous Friday night, had fallen asleep around one, and then… Well, frankly, startling Robin awake had been part of the joy of that particular meal.

“Fine. I’ll eat it, but only because I’m hungry,” Grima mutters. 

The hamburger is horribly delicious, but he’s not going to let Robin know that. In exchange for the meal, he keeps his mouth shut as Robin blabbers on about his evening.

“And so Henry went with Tharja to the section on medieval history, but I kind of wanted to stay with the fairy tales, you know? Fiction can say just as much about a culture as a factual history. And I met this girl there; she was reading chivalric romances and was looking for this one particular story that her other book was referencing. I tried to help her, but neither of us could find the edition she wanted. And I couldn’t stay very long anyway, because I look over and see this big commotion. Henry’s, like, cackling because I guess he hid and jumped out at this guy passing by and scared him. The guy didn’t think it was very funny, though, and Henry was about to get kicked out. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave him alone outside to wait for me and Tharja, so yeah…”

“Hmm… Sounds like more trouble than he’s worth,” Grima comments.

“What? No; I mean, Henry’s nice… He just doesn’t know when he’s going too far.” Robin shakes his head. “And you should see him in our calculus class. He and Tharja are both so quick. I kind of thought _I_ was good at math, but wow.” He pauses, frowning. “I still wish you were in it with me. You’re great at math; why did you settle for Algebra?”

Grima rolls his eyes. Not _this_ discussion again.

“I don’t give a damn about math,” he says. “Either class would suffice for the general education requirement, so I picked the easier one. Why wouldn’t I?”

“So you wouldn’t be bored?” Robin suggests. “So you’d actually go to it?”

“I go to Algebra… sometimes,” Grima says, shrugging. It’s the only class he has on Tuesdays, so if he doesn’t have anything more interesting to do, he’ll show up then. “Anyway, I would never voluntarily take a class you’re in. How many times do we have to talk about this?”

“Right…” Robin looks down. “Sorry…”

Grima scowls. Robin has no right to look so dejected when he’s the idiot who brought it up. He debates throwing something at his brother to wipe that look off his face… but no, let him sulk. Instead, he grabs his phone and resolves not to look at Robin.

Of course, Robin’s previous text is still on his phone’s screen when he wakes it. He closes it quickly, only to see another new message right under it.

Oh, right. Chrom.

**— I’ll be there in 10. This is Chrom by the way.**

Then, later...

**— Here!**

And still later…

**— Robin? Are you there?**   
**— Is this the right number?**   
**— Are you okay?**

That must have been when he got somebody to let him into the hall. It’s a little irritating. Shouldn’t Chrom have gotten the hint? Shouldn’t he have felt ignored and gotten angry? He should have been mad, not concerned!

But Grima can’t exactly say he’s upset his plan went wrong.

**— This number is right. I was too distracted earlier, or something.**

He doesn’t know what compels him to send it. But it feels good when he gets an immediate reply.

**— No worries, Robin. You looked a little out of it. Thank you again for helping me. I hope i didn’t disturb you.**

Grima supposes he must always look “a little out of it,” but it doesn’t offend him much. It’s not like he’s dressing for others’ sake.

**— I wouldn’t have let you in if I minded you there.**

It’s the truth. Grima didn’t have to let Chrom in… could have kicked him out any time…

**— You can come back sometime.**

He stares at his phone with a kind of nervous anticipation, though there is no good reason to feel it.

**— Alright. I’ll text you. See you on Monday?**

Grima releases his breath all at once.

**— See you.**

He sets his phone back on the table beside him before he can second-guess whatever it is that he’s doing. It’s so stupid, though. It’s not like _he_ is going to see anybody on Monday.

Although… He _does_ have to go to Chemistry, anyway. And his history class lets out at the same time as Robin’s public speaking class…

Perhaps he _will_ see Chrom on Monday.

He stands up.

“I’m going to bed,” he tells Robin. “Don’t wake me up.”

Robin glances up from the book he’s reading.

“You sleep like the dead,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I literally can’t wake you up.”

“Well, don’t try,” Grima mutters.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Robin says flatly, turning back to his book. “Good night, Grima.”


	3. Chapter 3

The only problem with Grima’s idea is that he can hardly go up to Chrom while Robin is still there.

Fortunately, Robin doesn’t linger long. As soon as he laughs and parts ways from Chrom, Grima begins counting. Forty-five seconds, then…

“Chrom!” he calls, half-jogging his way over. He and Robin always wear the same hoodie, and Grima had made sure to wear the same pants as his brother that day. The shoes are slightly different though the same color at least), but Grima doubts Chrom will notice. “I, uh, just remembered. My pen ran out of ink; can you lend me one?”

Chrom turns around in surprise.

“Robin? Uh… sure?” He fishes around in his pocket. “But really… a pen for _Calculus?_ Are you sure about that?”

Shit. He should have asked for a pencil.

“I live on the edge,” Grima says quickly.

It makes Chrom laugh.

“Alright. I guess you’re smart enough to do that,” he says, handing Grima a thin black pen. “Was that all you wanted?”

Grima stares at the pen in his hand. His plan has gone perfectly up to this point… only he hadn’t planned past this point. Robin has to go to class, so…

“I… guess…” he agrees.

“Okay, then…” Chrom says. 

Neither of them moves to leave. Chrom bites his lip.

“When’s your last class?” he asks. “I have English Composition at three; we get out at four-thirty. Are you… free after that?”

“Yes. I don’t have any more classes today,” Grima says. “After Calculus, I mean. Uh… I can meet you…”

“Great,” Chrom says. “That’s great, yeah. We can… go to the student union, maybe? We can study there…”

“Yes,” Grima agrees. “That’s… fine. I will… bring you your pen back.”

Chrom coughs over a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you then,” Grima echoes. He looks down and forces himself into a run. Robin would be running late by now if he had really stopped to talk to Chrom.

But Grima’s destination is not the math building. Instead, he heads to the library. After reserving a study room, he pulls out his study materials and decides that the best way to occupy three and a half hours is to do some math by hand.

He has to pull out his laptop, because the stupid professor only accepts online assignments (though at least this gives Grima all the more reason to skip class). They’re allowed to use calculators, and the professor could hardly stop them from using one on an online assignment… but Grima doesn’t need one. The math is easy as it is; it would be child’s play if he just typed everything into a calculator.

He pulls out a sheet of paper. And he even has a pen to use. Perfect.

_The height, h, in feet, of a rocket at t seconds after launch is can be modeled by the following equation…_

So boring. But it takes him three minutes to solve it this way, and he can probably add another thirty seconds if he makes his handwriting neater.

Ha. Now there’s some math. If it takes him three and a half minutes to do a problem, and there are thirty problems, how long will it take him to remember that this class is fucking worthless?

He feels pathetic. But he truly has nothing better to do. And so he keeps on writing equations.

He submits the assignment after an hour and a half. He moves on to some chemistry work afterwards. It is dull.

And to think that some idiots are excited to attend college.

He finishes chemistry a little before Chrom’s class is over, but that isn’t much of a problem. He has to walk over there anyway. By the time he makes it in front of the English building, classes are letting out. 

Grima waits by the stairs. He spots Chrom before Chrom spots him, but he waits for Chrom to wave at him before he approaches.

“Robin! You didn’t have to wait for me!” Chrom exclaims, though he’s grinning. 

“I was free,” Grima says.

“Oh, yeah, Calc gets out way earlier, right? Sorry English runs so late into the afternoon,” Chrom says. “How was Calc, by the way?”

Grima pauses.

“Math is… tedious,” he says. “But not difficult. It passes the time…”

“Pfft, tedious is right,” Chrom says. He walks forward, and Grima follows at his side. “I’m in a statistics class, and I only know what’s going on… maybe ten percent of the time.”

“At least statistics are useful,” Robin says. “You’ll be a shitty politician if you don’t understand them. Although plenty of shitty politicians understand them well enough… and purposely misuse them.”

“You mean there’s three kinds of falsehoods: lies, damn lies, and statistics,” Chrom says, chuckling. “The professor told us that joke day one.”

“It’s hardly a joke, but yes,” Grima agrees. “Statistics are facts, but… it is not that difficult to manipulate the truth.”

“Well, if you calculate them wrong, they aren’t even facts,” Chrom says. “Ugh, I have to work on that tonight; homework’s due tomorrow. I don’t suppose you want to help? I know you’re not in the class…”

“That doesn’t matter,” Grima says. “As long as I’m good at it, I’ll work on whatever subject you want.”

“Really?” Chrom’s eyes light up. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Grima is simultaneously pleased and disgusted. He shouldn’t have to do someone else’s fucking work. But Chrom’s expression makes him unable to regret the offer.

At least he’s good for _something._

The student union is packed with people when they arrive. All but the most unfortunate have finished their classes for the day at this point, and now they’ve come to congregate like a horde of ants in an anthill.

Normally, Grima would not come this way at all. There is something interesting about the organized chaos of the place, but there is nothing for him here. If he must be among people, he does not want to be one of a multitude of worthless strangers.

“I think there are still a few tables left,” Chrom says. “You want to sit?”

Scanning the area, Grima does indeed notice several tables left free (perhaps because so many people choose to stand and talk in clusters, instead of reasonably sitting down). He starts moving towards a secluded corner, the closest they’re going to be able to get to privacy. It is right next to a Starbucks—or, rather, some indie shop that has no doubt paid far too much for a license to sell the name brand drinks—and thus a bitter scent pervades the area. But there is a booth there, and thanks to the positioning of the shop’s counter, it can really only be seen from one particular angle.

If Chrom has objections to the seating, he does not voice them. He throws his backpack onto the table and immediately begins rifling through papers.

“You have a terrible organization system,” Grima remarks. He sets his own backpack under the table. It holds only his laptop, a notebook, and a folder full of paper, but at least he does not throw everything haphazardly into one huge mess.

Chrom chuckles awkwardly.

“At least I know everything is _in_ here,” he says. “Somewhere…”

After a moment, he holds a syllabus triumphantly.

‘See! And I have my textbook right here,” he says, patting a large red book that looks heavy enough to use as a weapon. “Now I just need paper, and…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Grima groans. He quickly reaches into his backpack, pulling out his notebook and slamming it on the table. “Just use this, will you? You don’t have to turn it in, do you?”

“No… We’re just going over the answers in class.” Chrom’s face reddens. “Er… you don’t have to…”

“I don’t care,” Grima snaps. “It’s not like I need it right now. Just give me that syllabus, will you? I want to know what you’re doing.”

Chrom passes it over without another word. His face still appears uncomfortably red.

“Chi-Square… Well, that IS tedious,” Grima mutters. “I assume you have to do them all by hand?”

“Unfortunately,” Chrom says.

“Better get started, then,” Grima says, shoving the syllabus back at him. “I’ll just… do the problems beside you. We can check them together or whatever.”

“You’re really going to do homework for a class you don’t have?” Chrom asks, his eyes widening incredulously. “Robin, this goes beyond ‘help’.”

“I seriously don’t have anything better to do!” Grima insists. “Besides, I’d better keep up my statistics skills, anyway. Otherwise I’ll forget everything and get stupid.”

“I guess… if this is really what you want…” Chrom says hesitantly. He settles the textbook between them. “We’ll start with the first problem, then.”

To Grima’s horror, he does not immediately remember how to solve these kinds of problems. A quick skim of the chapter refreshes his memory, but his heart still pounds from the scare. He really _is_ becoming stupid…

“You got 8.01, right?” Chrom asks. 

To Grima’s relief, he did.

“So we reject the null hypothesis,” he says.

“We… what?” Chrom squints at his paper. “How do you know?”

“Because it’s higher than the number on the critical value table,” Grima says, pointing to the book.

For several seconds, Chrom only looks more confused. But then…

“Oh! So THAT’S where we look at the degrees of freedom!” he exclaims. He quickly scribbles something into the margins of his textbook. “Damn it, why didn’t the professor just _say_ that?”

“Because it only takes two seconds, and your class goes for an hour and a half,” Grima says.

But Chrom ignores the remark.

“This is significant!” Chrom cheers. “High-five!”

Suddenly, Chrom’s hand is flying toward Grima. Without thinking, he raises his own to meet it. It… tingles.

Chrom laughs in delight.

“I can’t believe you’re acing a class you’re not in,” he says. “But now maybe _I_ can ace it. So… thank you…”

“You… don’t have to pretend to be so—” 

Grima cuts off suddenly as he spots a figure in his periphery. What the hell is Robin doing here?

Some guy slaps Robin on the back, and then Grima remembers. Robin’s a fucking social butterfly.

But shit, Robin can’t see him and Chrom together. And Chrom definitely can’t see two Robins.

“Fuck,” Grima hisses. He drops to the floor, yanking Chrom down with him.

“W-What? Robin…?” Chrom asks, more loudly than Grima would prefer.

“I lost my contact lens,” Grima hisses beneath his breath (or perhaps “lies through his teeth” would be more accurate). “Help me find it.”

“You wear contacts?” Chrom asks. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah…” Grima looks hideous in glasses. Now, _Robin_ can pull off the look, because fuck him, but their father was willing to pay for contact lenses. It doesn’t matter now that he’s dead… but Grima supposes that Robin is just too used to them to change. “I have some that turn my eyes red. I haven’t worn them in a while, though…”

He cringes the moment he says it. Nobody thinks it’s cool except him. Even in high school, the other students thought it was contemptible. But fuck them and their fucking opinions. It never made his father mad, so it can’t be that fucking awful.

“I never understood how those things worked,” Chrom says. “You’ll have to show me sometime. It’s hard to imagine your eyes changing color…”

Grima frowns.

“I’m sure you can Google it,” he mutters.

His hand accidentally brushes against Chrom’s, and their eyes mutually widen as they meet.

“I, er… don’t think that would be the same,” Chrom says.

“Right…” Grima says. He quickly pops his head out from under the table, just for a second. Robin is still surrounded by his posse, but they’re all headed out the door now.

Grima puts his head back down, sliding his hand over to the side.

“Found it,” he says. He quickly shoves his hand into his pocket. He picks himself up off the floor, and then, feeling somewhat responsible for dragging Chrom to the floor, offers his hand out.

It’s a decision that he quickly regrets. As soon as Chrom is holding onto him, he has a sudden gripping need to keep the contact.

Instead of giving in, he drops Chrom’s hand as soon as he’s standing.

“I have to go,” Grima says. “To… the bathroom. To fix my lenses. Um… do the next problem, or whatever, I guess. Fuck, I don’t care. Just… wait.”

“Er… alright,” Chrom agrees.

Grima makes it to the nearest bathroom. It is not impractically crowded, but neither is it unoccupied, and the presence of the others irritates him. He shuts himself into a stall.

The fact is, this whole Chrom thing was a terrible idea from the beginning. He should have just punched Robin in the face and been done with it. 

Because Chrom is so fucking great. He hasn’t said a single awful thing to Grima yet, even after knowing him for more than one day. It’s got to be some kind of record.

But Grima only gets to be an imitation of Robin. That’s it. That’s fucking all. Robin has every fucking friend in the universe and Grima has nothing and he can’t even have Chrom because Robin’s a fucking liar, and he’s a fucking liar too.

He clenches his hands into fists. He’d love nothing more than to go back out there, introduce himself properly, and tell Chrom to ditch Robin and stick with him instead. But then _he_ would probably get punched in the face (Chrom has the muscles for it).

But no, he needs to calm down. This is going well. Why _shouldn’t_ he just… keep being Robin? Robin has too many friends to spend that much time with just one of them, especially when those Tharja-and-Henry people he always talks about are clearly his favorites.

Robin can have Chrom to himself when they have class together. Grima can make much better use of the rest of the time.

A nauseating anger swells within him as the plan cements itself in his mind. He’s always been a worse copy of Robin! At this point, he might as well not exist!

And yet, this is what gives him confidence that he can pull it off. If he’s still a sufficient Robin clone at this point, there’s no reason to think that Chrom will mind him later.

And so he walks back to his table, his head held high, and he offers Chrom a smile. It isn’t even difficult, not when Chrom smiles at him first.

“I got you a drink,” Chrom says, pushing a cup of coffee towards him. “It’s just plain. I didn’t know what you’d like, and I figured you could sweeten it yourself.”

“This is fine. I don’t care what it tastes like,” Grima says. “It’s all caffeine in the end, anyway. What… What did you order?”

Chrom grins.

“Hot chocolate,” he says, taking a smug sip. “I don’t need the caffeine.”

“Lucky bastard,” Grima mutters. Louder, he continues. “Isn’t that a childish drink?”

“Are children the only ones allowed to have a good time?” Chrom asks, blinking up too innocently at Grima.

Grima drags the statistics textbook very pointedly in front of them.

They pass a very pleasant hour and a half together (granted, Chrom sulks when he misses an answer, but this does not outweigh his delight when he gets one right; Grima is amused either way). They must eventually part ways, though. Chrom is apparently supposed to eat dinner with his sister and their cousin. It’s just as well, Grima supposes. The longer he stays out, the longer Robin will bug him when he gets back.

Of course, Robin still bugs him anyway.

“Oh, hey. I’m surprised you weren’t here when I got back from class,” Robin says almost as soon as Grima walks into their room. “I even left and came _back,_ and you still weren’t there. Have you been out the whole day?”

“Why does it matter?” Grima asks, throwing his backpack into a corner.

“I’m just curious!” Robin says defensively. “You hate going out, that’s all. So I’m curious. Were you studying the whole time?”

“Yes,” Grima says. He plugs in his phone, checks for new messages (there are none; why would there be?), and sits down on his bed.

“At the library?” Robin prompts.

“For a while,” Grima says.

Robin looks at him expectantly, but Grima does not offer any more information.

After a moment, Robin sighs.

“I don’t know why I even try,” he says. Grima doesn’t know why, either. It’s not like Robin cares. Nothing ever compares to Robin’s oh-so-interesting life.

“Well, _I_ had a good day,” Robin says. Grima rolls his eyes. Of course he fucking did. “I went out with Vaike and his friend Miriel, and—”

“Wait,” Grima interrupts. “Vaike. As in ‘The Vaike’ who plays the drums at five in the goddamn morning and then screams his own name? That idiot?”

“Okay, well, I talked to him about that,” Robin says. “Anyway, we were going to go to this café off-campus because they let Vaike perform there. But I guess he lost his drumsticks or something? We had to hunt all over the place for them. We eventually found some in the union, but Vaike doesn’t even remember going there today, so I’m not entirely convinced we didn’t just steal some innocent person’s things… And then we were too late to make it in time, anyway, so we just stopped for sandwiches.”

Grima groans and rolls onto his back.

“How does wasting your time looking for The Vaike’s fucking chopsticks make this a good day for you?” he asks, though he probably shouldn’t be engaging his brother’s shitty stories.

“No, no, they were drumsticks,” Robin corrects. He’s so fucking innocent. “And I don’t know; it was kind of fun? We saw a lot of things all around campus. There was a group of students acting out Shakespeare by the fine arts building. The Comedy of Errors, I think.”

“You love that play,” Grima mutters.

“I like all the twins,” Robin says. “It reminds me of our family. I mean, there’s us, and our cousins Morgan and Marc…”

“Haven’t seen them in a while,” Grima says. Robin probably cares more than he does. Morgan and Marc just adore Robin. He might as well be their older brother, what with how much they look up to him.

Or at least, that’s how it used to be. Last time he saw them, he and Robin were barely out of middle school.

“They’re sixteen now,” Robin says. “Juniors in high school. Can you believe it? Next year they’ll be looking at colleges.”

“If they decide to go at all,” Grima says.

“What?” Robin inhales sharply. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because it’s not that great?” Grima sneers. “They’re smart kids who can do whatever the hell they want with their lives?”

“If you’d stop being an asshole to the two people you actually speak to per month, you might like college a little bit more!” Robin says. “They can do whatever they want, _including_ going to college. Don’t you dare say anything to discourage them!”

“Right, because I talk to them SO often,” Grima says. “You got me; I’m best friends with the brats and have been leading them astray for years. Guess the jig’s up. I’ll leave them in your capable fucking hands.”

He doesn’t even know his cousin’s phone numbers like Robin does. They might as well be strangers to him. He’s not even sure he’d recognize them; they were prepubescent little twigs last he saw them.

“This is what I’m talking about, Grima,” Robin says angrily. “Can you not be like this for ONE conversation? ANY conversation?”

“Can you shut the FUCK up now?” Grima mocks. “RIGHT now?”

Chrom doesn’t have a problem with the way he talks. It can’t be _that_ fucking awful. If Robin would just learn when to be quiet, maybe Grima wouldn’t have to snap at him every other second.

“Have it your way,” Robin grabs his phone by the earphones and practically jabs them into his ears. “Feel free to keep being nasty if you want, Grima. I can’t even hear you.”

Grima grits his teeth, rolling over on his stomach.

“You never fucking do,” he mutters into his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Chrom is so fucking great. Robin is always running off to Calculus right after Public Speaking, so Chrom always waits to make big plans by text.

Which means, of course, that Grima is the one going. At this rate, he might actually be spending more time with Chrom than Robin is.

“You have five classes, so keep five binders. I don’t see what is difficult to understand about this.”

Grima is trying to help Chrom organize his work. And possibly his life. Considering that it’s already the middle of October, it’s about time.

“That’s too much to keep track of. If anything, I’ll probably lose a whole binder,” Chrom says, tossing a potato chip into his mouth. 

It’s Friday and Grima is missing his history class for this… but having lunch with Chrom is more entertaining, anyway (he knows; he did the reading and it’s literally the same shit he learned in high school).

“Fine, then we can use one binder. But that requires extensive tabbing,” Grima says. “Meet me again tomorrow evening and I’ll put it together for you.”

Chrom chuckles.

“Robin,” he says warmly. Not for the first time, Grima wishes he knew his real name. “Come on, you’re helping me out a lot as it is. I’m not going to make you sort through all my crap.”

“You have yet to sort through all your crap on your own,” Grima points out. “So I might as well do it for you. Besides, it… gives us a reason to spend the afternoon together.”

Grima could slap himself for that comment. Chrom doesn’t need to know how much he wants to see him. Nobody needs to know that. He wishes _he_ didn’t know that. Damn Chrom and his disarmingly gentle eyes… Tricking Grima into letting his guard down…

“Er…” Chrom swallows the chip in his mouth with a cough. “I didn’t think we needed a reason to spend time together… Is our being friends not justification enough?”

“Is it?” Grima asks. What does he know about friendship? His childhood best friend (Aversa, what kind of fucking name is that?) had been a girl his father had blackmailed into being his friend… not that he’d found that out until _after_ his father was too dead to offer an explanation.

“You have my number, don’t you?” Chrom asks rhetorically. “You can just… talk to me. Really, please do. I rather like your company, you know.” 

“Alright…” Grima says. His guard is still too far down, and he cannot remember how to put it up again. “But if I’m not helping you… what _would_ we do?”

“Er… anything we feel like, I guess,” Chrom says. “We could… play video games. I already know you like them.”

“Okay,” Grima agrees. “That… would be good. Can I… I’ve never been to your room… Can I come? Tomorrow? Or…”

“Of course you can,” Chrom says quickly. “We might have to share with my roommate, but he’s a good guy. Or, well… he’s got a good heart, alright?”

Grima snorts.

“This should be entertaining.”

And so Saturday afternoon comes, and Grima finds himself in Chrom’s hall. Robin is going to some sappy dancing thing this evening, so he’s already gone off with his stupid friends to prepare. Grima will be amazed if he comes back before three in the morning.

At any rate, hanging out with Chrom is going to be so much better than sitting in his shitty room waiting for Robin.

When Chrom leads him to his room, the first thing they’re greeted with is choked spluttering from Chrom’s roommate.

“Blue, you didn’t tell me you were bringing someone hot over here,” the ginger-haired man exclaims. “Damn boy, where’ve you been hiding? You look like my type!”

“Unfortunately for you, I have _taste,_ ” Grima growls. He glances at Chrom, unamused.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” Chrom says, placing a hand on Grima’s shoulder. He does that sometimes, and Grima finds it pleasant. He no longer feels an overwhelming urge to fucking _glue_ himself to Chrom every time they touch, so that’s got to be good.

“Ooh, you’re a little thunderstorm, aren’t you?” Chrom’s roommate says, raising his eyebrows.

“Gaius, please! I’d like Robin to come _back_ someday!” Chrom exclaims. 

Gaius laughs, flopping back onto his bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be good,” Gaius says. “Nice to meet ya, Thunder. I’m glad Chrom’s bringing someone over who isn’t related to him for once. He’s a sheltered kid _and_ a dork, so he doesn’t have a lot going for him in the social department.”

“You love my family,” Chrom protests.

“Well, I’m not dissing Princess or Blue2,” Gaius says, “but you’ve gotta have more friends than just your family. Or else what are you gonna do when they drive you up the wall?”

Grima frowns. If Gaius thinks Chrom is pathetic, he doesn’t want to know what Gaius would think about _him_

“Okay, let’s just ignore him for now, Robin,” Chrom says, gently pushing Grima forward. “He’s good, I _swear,_ but he likes getting under people’s skin.”

“He can fuck off for all I care,” Grima says.

“Ohhh no,” Gaius groans mockingly. “You’ve stabbed my heart with those cold words. How will I ever recover?”

Grima snorts, and Chrom rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, Robin, you can sit… uh, sure, I guess the bed is fine,” Chrom says. 

Grima, already arranging himself on the bed, blinks in surprise.

“You didn’t even think twice about sitting on mine,” he points out.

“Right…” Chrom says. “Well, that’s… It’s not a _problem._ Er, I don’t know why I said it like that…”

Gaius snickers.

“You’re so precious, Blue,” he says.

Grima grits his teeth.

“So what are we playing?” he says before that line of conversation can go anywhere.

“Do you play Overwatch? We could do that,” Chrom suggests. “Or there’s always Smash.”

Gaius snickers again.

Grima reaches for his backpack. He only needed it to carry his backpack, but he hadn’t bothered to take anything out. Taking out his history textbook, he throws it at Gaius.

“Is this a gift for me?” Gaius grins. The book hadn’t hit him, unfortunately. “Thanks, Thunder. Normally I have to steal shit this expensive.”

“He’s kidding,” Chrom says quickly. “I caught him sneaking out an entire bag of candy from one of those orientation things back in August, and now he likes to pretend he’s a kleptomaniac.”

“I _can_ pick locks, but don’t spread that around,” Gaius says, smirking. “Otherwise I’ll tattle to the RA about this vicious assault you’ve committed against me.” He strokes the book like it’s his favorite pet.

“You…” Grima doesn’t know what to say. Gaius is grinning; he’s having a good time? “You are… fucking _something._ ”

“I’m only fucking fully consenting humans, I swear,” Gaius grins even wider.

“Gaius, stop distracting him,” Chrom demands. “He came here for me, you know?”

Grima snaps his gaze back to Chrom, his eyes widening. Chrom’s good opinion is the only one he cares about here. After all, he was trying to _bother_ Gaius, not impress him.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about there, Blue,” Gaius says, chuckling. “Give me like five minutes here. I’m gonna go see Twinkles. I think she’s finally forgiven me for almost getting her dad kicked out of the PTA back when we were in elementary school.”

“Good luck with that,” Chrom says. “Tell Lissa I said hi.”

“Who is Twinkles?” Grima whispers to Chrom.

“Lissa’s roommate. Her name’s Maribelle,” Chrom whispers back. “She forgave Gaius a while ago, but she’s milking it for everything it’s worth. Her weight in chocolate, for one.”

“Are you talking about candy over there?” Gaius asks, glancing up from his phone. His eyes suddenly light up. “Candy! That’s what she needs! Sweets for the sweet…. uh, is what I WOULD say, if I was a NERD or something.”

“He flirts with a lot of people, but he’s got an actual soft spot for her,” Chrom continues to whisper. “I thought I would mention that, in case you took him seriously before or something…”

“I did not,” Grima says. He only notices the tension in Chrom’s face when it suddenly melts away. “Besides, I prefer men who are more…” He pauses, because as soon as he meets Chrom’s eyes, he forgets most of his vocabulary. “... Not him,” he finishes weakly.

Chrom’s face suddenly seems far closer to his own than is reasonable. Blinking, Grima shuffles back.

“Uh… so… do you want to play Overwatch first?” he asks, his voice sounding strangely loud after their hushed conversation. “We can always switch games later. I… don’t have anywhere else to be. My roommate will be gone all night.”

“Your roommate, the ‘asshole’?” Chrom asks. “Well… that’s good for you.”

“Yeah…” Grima sighs. Half the reason Robin goes out so much is to avoid him, he knows. “Yeah, it’s a relief to get away…”

Chrom gives him a pitying glance that gets anger flaring up inside him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growls. “You don’t understand the situation at all, so just… Let’s not talk about it.”

Talking is where things fall apart, every time.

“Sure. I’m sorry,” Chrom says, proving himself to be the only person in Grima’s life who knows when to fucking quit. “Hold on; let me get the game up.”

Grima’s agitation fades over the course of the evening. He doesn’t even think about Robin, at least not until he gets back to his room and midnight and finds himself alone.

He had expected it, but still. Robin will come back whenever he feels like it, with no consideration for the fact that Grima’s going to have to keep the damn light on for him. Otherwise, Robin will trip on something in the dark and cry and wake Grima up from whatever rest he’s actually managing to get.

So Grima leaves the light on. But it’s hard to sleep with the thing right there, always in his face. That’s why his fucking eyes are wide open when Robin waltzes in at four-oh-six in the morning with a brilliant smile on his face.

“What are you so happy about?” Grima asks.

Robin startles.

“I-I didn’t expect you to be up,” Robin says. But his smile falters only for a second before it’s shining in full force again. “Grima, this dance I went to… It was amazing. I… I met a _girl._ ”

If Grima wasn’t already awake, he sure as hell would be now.

“What the fuck?” he asks, sitting up quickly. “Don’t tell me you’re in love at first sight.”

“Th-This wasn’t _first_ sight,” Robin says. “I’ve seen her before. I think I told you, actually. The girl reading chivalric romances at the bookstore.” He laughs breathlessly. “Her name’s Lucina. She’s a writer. Not published yet, but oh _god_ she will be. She’s amazing.”

“Disgusting,” Grima mutters. His stomach literally twists with the feeling. “You’re already planning your wedding, aren’t you?”

“Well, no… I mean…” Robin laughs again. “It was one night, you know? After the dance, we went to get some food. Um… nothing good was open, so we just stopped by the convenience store, and I mean, that’s not very romantic, but…” Robin beams. “We traded numbers. I’d like to see her again someday, you know, if we can find a time…”

“Oh my god…” Grima mutters. “Oh my _god._ ”

Of course Robin would find himself a girlfriend just like that. They’ll probably be married in a year and having bright-eyed little brats by graduation.

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” he says. He can’t even think of anything else to say. His brother suddenly seems very far away.

“I’m going to pretend you aren’t being sarcastic,” Robin says, still smiling. “I think this was the best day of my life.”

“Well,” Grima snaps, coming back to his senses. “I guess your perfect day can go on for another twenty hours, since it’s four o’clock in the goddamn morning.”

“Are you… mad that I was out late?” Robin asks incredulously. “Seriously, is that why you’re being an asshole this time? It’s not like I made you wait up for me, you know!”

“Just turn off the light.” Grima scowls as he throws his covers back over himself. “Turn off the fucking light.”

Robin does. It is not any comfort.


	5. Chapter 5

In late October, Grima falls ill.

Robin does not. Him and his stupid fucking perfect immune system. 

“Grima… I know I normally tell you to please go to class, but…” Robin frowns over Grima’s bed. “Please _don’t_ go to class today.”

Grima glares. Or he gives it his best effort, at least. Robin’s voice is too loud in the face of his headache. But he can’t even yell, not with his throat aching as well.

“I don’t know… Maybe I should stay, too,” Robin continues. ”I don’t want you to do anything stupid and make yourself worse.”

Anger is not an emotion that complements a fever. Grima’s heart pounds too heavily.

“Fuck you…” he chokes out. “Do I look like… I can do anything at all?”

He’s too weak. He doesn’t want Robin watching him like this. If he still lived with his father… at least nobody would see him at his worst.

“What good are you here?” Grima continues. His vocal cords strain painfully, but damn it, he wants to speak. “But you… love… your classes.”

“I have these ones twice a week…” Robin murmurs.

“You want to take a page out of my book? And… skip?” Grima laughs, but it turns into a cough. “Do… whatever. But I don’t… need… a fucking... babysitter.”

Robin shrinks back from him.

“Okay…” he says quietly. “I guess I’ll see you later, then… Feel better.”

Grima would roll his eyes if it were worth the effort. If he could improve his health on command, he would have ordered himself better already. But no… now that the illness has manifested, he cannot do anything but allow it to wreak its havoc. It is not a matter of what he wants.

Robin leaves, his keys jingling as he locks the door behind him.

And then there is silence. Not that Grima feels any better about it. Without something to keep his focus on, he soon falls into a restless sleep. He is somehow both too hot and too cold, and it feels like he is waking every other minute in order to toss and turn around. 

He hates this. He should have noticed the illness sooner, done something to prevent it in advance. His father would think…

Would think nothing. His father is dead. Right.

He still shouldn’t be like this.

After either an eternity or an instant, Grima opens his eyes and can actually keep them open… for the most part. He sits up in his bed without falling over. Within a few minutes, he has enough of his bearings to make it to the bathroom and back (he does not feel the need to throw up, which is a relief; he cannot be _that_ sick, surely). He is just sinking back into his bed when he hears the door unlock.

“Oh, you’re awake…” Robin steps inside, a frown on his face. “Is that good or bad?”

Grima sits back up.

“I’m not any worse,” he says. It doesn’t sound great croaked out of his sore throat, but it’s true, whether Robin believes him or not.

“Well…” Robin sets his backpack against his bed. He pulls something out… a container. “I brought you lunch…”

He thrusts the plastic container into Grima’s hands. It’s warm to the touch.

“Mom would have made you soup...” Robin says. “But I can’t do that, so… I just took some from the dining hall.”

Grima hums in thought. It is technically against the rules to do that. He would have thought Robin would care about that.

He raises the container to his face, observing how the soup inside sloshes around. It is not an appealing color.

“I hate soup,” Grima says, setting the container down beside him.

Robin sighs, his frown deepening.

“Then what do you want?” he asks.

Now Grima frowns. He wants to not be sick, and nothing else matters very much.

He picks the container back up. At least it is warm.

“A fucking spoon,” he hisses.

Robin stares at him for a moment, probably trying to decide whether he’s serious or about to dump the soup on Robin’s head.

“Never mind,” Grima says.

“Wait, no, I have one,” Robin says quickly. He nearly trips as he crosses the room to get it, and Grima grits his teeth. Robin’s only doing this because Grima looks pathetic. If he were any more of a saint he’d be dead; that’s why he’s here feeding the poor and miserable. Grima turns his head away, not wanting to look. He should have gotten the damn spoon himself.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Grima mutters as Robin comes back. He snatches the spoon from his brother’s hands, but he makes no move to eat. The clock reads 1:30. It’s Wednesday. Robin definitely has Calculus.

“I wasn’t sure you’d have anything for lunch if you didn’t,” Robin says. “I don’t know; I thought… I thought I should have stayed… And it’s my last class of the day anyway. I was going to meet Lucina later, but she’ll understand if I say I’m taking care of... someone…”

Grima goes rigid at the last word. Someone. 

He bets she doesn’t know who the hell Grima is, either.

“Don’t fucking bother,” Grima snaps. “Go see your girlfriend… She likes you more.”

Robin’s eyes widen at the sudden aggression.

“Sh-she’s not my…” Robin stammers. “She doesn’t… Well, _I_ don’t… Damn it!” Robin takes a step back, his eyes blazing. “I’m just trying to help you, Grima! You’re sick; how do you even have the energy to do this?”

“I’m not so sick as to need your pity!” Grima raises his voice despite the pain it brings. “Last I checked, you aren’t a fucking nurse. There’s no reason for you to be here!”

“Well, if that’s how you feel,” Robin exclaims, “maybe I will go meet with Lucina after all. She DOES like me more than you do, not that you’ve set the bar very high!”

Robin does not storm out. But he does not say another word to Grima as he carefully collects his things and walks out the door.

Grima scowls and opens his fucking container of soup. He might as well be eating dishwater. It’s been sitting out too long and is now on the just-tolerable side of lukewarm. He could microwave it, but why bother? That won’t make it taste any better.

He can’t get back to sleep afterwards. His body’s still fucking him up, but his mind is no longer in that hazy state that will allow him to weather it out unconscious.

He picks up his Pokemon game, figuring that it can’t possibly frustrate him. He’s about an hour into it when his phone vibrates with a message.

It’s Chrom.

**— How’s your roommate?**

Grima has to reread it twice before it occurs to him. Robin went to class with Chrom, but he didn’t go to Calculus afterward. He must have mentioned something. Something about his _roommate._

**— He’s fine.**

Grima isn’t sure what Robin would have really said. He doesn’t care anymore. Chrom talks with him more often; therefore _he’s_ the real Robin in this situation. And he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it.

**— So it wasn’t as bad as you thought? You said you were afraid he’d die while you were gone.**

Again, Grima has to reread the message.

**— He’s not even close to dying. That was an overreaction.**

Because seriously, what the hell? He’s got a fucking cold or something, not the bubonic plague!

Of course, mild ailments can always progress into something worse… And you never know when your last day with a person might be…

Grima’s breath hitches. His father hadn’t wanted to see anyone for days leading up to… the death… Grima had tried, really, to talk to him. But his father wouldn’t even look at him...

Fuck, but Grima’s not like _that._ It’s a completely different situation. And besides, Robin wasn’t even there; he and his mother were thick as thieves and they were both relieved when Validar Reflet left the world. Robin wouldn’t think about it now. Grima was the only one in the world who cared about his father… not that it mattered.

Still… Grima finds himself looking at his brother’s number.

**— Robin.**

He sends the text before he thinks it through. 

**— Grima?**

This was stupid. Robin’s probably having a fan-fucking-tastic time with Lucina. Nothing he would say is going to compare.

Grima must be taking too long, because Robin sends another message.

**— Do you need something?**

Grima grimaces. He has no good reason for doing this. He’s just thinking too much. Robin doesn’t fucking care.

**— Bring me back dinner. I can’t go out while sick.**

Robin’s reply is immediate.

**— Yeah, fine. What do you want?**

What does Grima want? For his fucking father to be alive. For everything to stop being fucked up. For Robin to fucking come here and fix something.

Not that Robin had been asking _that_ question.

**— Surprise me.**


	6. Chapter 6

Grima’s illness loosens its grip on him by the weekend. Robin seems relieved. Probably because Grima can’t use it as an excuse to order him around anymore. 

Whatever. Now he can go out whenever he wants without being chained by Grima’s need for meals. And that means Grima can go out, too.

He hasn’t seen Chrom since Monday. Catching sight of that distinctive blue hair again is unexpectedly thrilling.

“Hey, Robin,” Chrom says as they head into his room. “Are you going to be free this evening? Gaius wheedled me into buying him tickets to this harvest fair thing that’s going on tonight, but now he’s saying that it wouldn’t be right or something? And, er, I guess I could bring Lissa or Lucina, but I thought—”

“Lucina?” Grima blinks in surprise. Surely it can’t be…

“My cousin? I thought I told you about her?” Chrom shrugs. “She’s our age, but she took a lot of advanced placement classes in high school, so she started as a sophomore. She wants to be a writer.”

A writer. Shit. Of course Robin’s fucking girlfriend would know Chrom. Would be his damn cousin.

“Uh… we’ve met,” Grima says. “I just… didn’t realize she was related to you.”

“Really? Most people see the resemblance right away.” Chrom chuckles. “The blue hair gene runs strong on my father’s side. I’m surprised it skipped both of my sisters.”

“Well…” Grima swallows nervously. “I guess I’ll know to look for the resemblance now.”

“So, er, as I was saying…” Chrom bites his lip. “If you’re free tonight, I thought we could go together. I, er, don’t have much experience with this sort of thing… Fairs. I’m talking about fairs. Er, but it might be fun? Gaius was ready to drag me there against my will back when I bought these tickets.”

“I… don’t think I’ve ever been to a fair,” Grima says. The idea never appealed to him. Strangers… Food of unknown origin… Screaming children, he assumes… What reason would he have to go?

“It can be our first time together, then,” Chrom says. “Er… at a fair. Our first time together at a fair. At a fair, together. If you want.”

Grima exhales in amusement. He can imagine it being entertaining with Chrom there.

“Sure. Let’s do it,” he agrees. “You’ve already bought the tickets. It would be a waste if we didn’t.”

He can’t keep his smile from mirroring the one on Chrom’s face.

It isn’t that late when they leave for the fair, but the sun is already setting in the autumn sky.

“Isn’t it ridiculous to be having a harvest festival right now?” Grima says, more for the sake of conversation than argument. “Halloween is next week. They’ll do something for that, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s college,” Chrom says, chuckling. “Any excuse for a big event, right?”

“I guess,” Grima agrees. “I like this better, anyway. Never saw the fun in Halloween.”

“Really?” Chrom hums. “It’s Gaius’s favorite holiday. Because of the candy.”

Grima snorts.

“The real candy holiday is the first day of November,” he says. “That’s when everything goes on sale.”

“Ah, but people don’t wear costumes then,” Chrom says. “That’s what makes the holiday unique.”

“Uniquely stupid,” Grima says. “Wear whatever you want. Make yourself look like whatever the fuck you want to be. But no matter what costume you put on, you’ll never actually be anything but yourself. You’re stuck with whatever your DNA says you’re going to be like.”

“Er… I’m no scientist, but I’m _pretty_ sure that’s not how it works,” Chrom says, chuckling awkwardly. “There’s… nurture AND nature, or something?”

Shit. He’s making this weird, isn’t he?

“Well, I’m obviously not a scientist, either,” Grima says. “Just forget it. How good are you at darts?” He gestures towards one of the game booths.

“Er, alright, probably?” Chrom says. “I have good aim.”

“And you’re fucking ripped,” Grima says, glancing at Chrom’s arms. “If you can’t break a balloon, it’s because the game’s rigged. You figure these university goons actually rigged them?”

“Ah… Er…” Chrom is suddenly flustered. “You want to find out?”

The game _isn’t_ rigged, but the “prizes” are worthless. Grima and Chrom are both rewarded with temporary tattoos featuring their university’s emblem.

“This is literally trash,” Grima says, waving the flimsy paper around in the air.

“Hey, give it to me if you don’t want it,” Chrom says. “I’ll wear it. I’ll wear both of them. I have school pride.”

Grima snorts, but he hands the tattoo over. He doubts Chrom is kidding, and it’s clearly going to be hilarious.

They spend a bit of time playing the absolutely juvenile _and_ poorly designed carnival games the school decided it could _splurge_ on. Grima absolutely would not be caught dead here by himself… but Chrom’s presence makes the whole thing tolerable. Maybe it’s the subtle encouragement Chrom keeps giving him. Chrom pushes him towards activities even when they both say they’re terrible at them. He smiles even when he screws up. He smiles even when _Grima_ screws up. It’s almost relaxing… Grima feels like he can do no wrong here.

“Hey, do you want something to eat?” Chrom asks after a while. They’ve stopped to sit on a bench. It’s dark, but the number of children (and adults, honestly) running around with glow sticks makes the campus seem more like a fucking party than a place for higher learning to take place. “The food’s free, you know.”

Grima rolls his eyes.

“It’s not _free,_ ” he points out. “It’s the reason the tickets were five dollars.”

“I guess in that case, it’s more accurate to say the food’s on me, then,” Chrom says with a smile. “I’m going to get some barbecue brisket. You want any?”

“I do enjoy red meat…” Grima mutters. And his stomach voices its opinion with a growl.

Chrom laughs.

“Okay. I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving Grima temporarily alone.

A few stands away, Grima spots some students getting drinks. Slowly, he drifts in that direction. Chrom hadn’t said anything, but maybe he should… But maybe he should just wait and ask Chrom… Or maybe…

“Hi there!” a cheerful girl with green hair calls, waving him over to the stand. “You want a drink? Don’t be shy! We have lots!”

Grima blinks. The girl is decked out with glow sticks in the form of necklaces and bracelets. Her shirt is covered in glittery stickers that reflect the colorful lights. Altogether, she looks about twelve years old. Maybe sixteen if you used your critical thinking skills. She _might_ be able to pass for twenty… if you only looked at her eyes, which seem quite intelligent.

“Feels like child labor…” he can’t help but mutter aloud. He doesn’t actually expect the girl to hear, but she apparently does nevertheless. She doubles over with laughter.

“Buddy, I’ve got a kid in high school!” she exclaims. “Haha… You’re not the first, though… To think… Hahaha!”

“Nowi is very nontraditional student,” the man next to her says. “Closer to Gregor’s age, but is always taken for little girl. Gregor did not believe when seeing daughter. But daughter was so embarrassed, so Nowi must be parent. Only mother can embarrass child like that.”

Grima narrows his eyes.

“You’re fucking with me,” he accuses. “I… I’m not going to…”

He takes a step back, which has Nowi reaching out for him.

“No, nooo,” she says, still laughing. “Don’t goooo. We’re dead serious, really. C’mon, at least take a drink so our table doesn’t look like a total flop when the school makes us report.”

“Tasty hot drinks,” Gregor says, gesturing to cups on the table. “Pumpkin latte and apple cider and hot chocolate. Free and good.”

“I…” Grima quickly grabs a cup of hot chocolate. “I’m getting this for someone else.”

“Okay,” Nowi says cheerfully. “Don’t know what you want yourself? I’d go for the apple cider! It tastes like liquid autumn!”

She holds out a cup to him. Grima wasn’t planning on getting anything for himself, but… The look of insistence on Nowi’s face doesn’t leave a lot of room for argument.

“Come back if you run out!” Nowi calls happily after him, though he doesn’t turn around. “We have so much! We gotta get rid of it somehow!”

He makes it back to the bench about the same time Chrom does. 

“Good thinking, Robin.” Chrom’s smile stretches wide. He sets the food down between them, and Grima shoves the hot chocolate at him as soon as his hands are free.

“I apologize for calling this drink childish before,” Grima mutters. “I just met the _embodiment_ of childishness, and apparently she has a daughter in high school.”

Chrom looks at him in confusion for a moment. Grima chuckles and points over to Nowi’s table. He can really only see her glow sticks from here, but it gets the point across well enough.

Chrom chuckles.

“Well, thank you,” he says, raising his cup. “I will now enjoy my very sophisticated drink like a very sophisticated future governor.”

“Governor, huh?” Grima smirks as he takes a sip of his own drink. It turns out that “liquid autumn” just tastes like slightly spicy apple juice, but at least Chrom seems to like the hot chocolate. “That’s a big dream.”

“Yeah…” Chrom laughs lightly. “I don’t know; this is important to me. I want to be a leader that people can have faith in.”

“So you’ve got to build up support…” Grima says. “Any plans on how you’re going to do that?”

“Er…” Chrom looks away. “Would you judge me if I said I have no clue?”

Grima snorts.

“Hardly,” he says. “At least you have a _goal._ I don’t know what the hell _I’m_ going to do with a fucking _history_ degree.”

Wait… Shit, _Robin_ isn’t getting a history degree. But fortunately, Chrom doesn’t seem to notice.

“You have time to figure it out, though,” Chrom says. “I guess I do, too… We’re only freshmen…”

“Sure…” Grima agrees. He takes a bite of his barbecue. The meat is tender, the sauce slightly sweet. “Still feels like I should know more than _this."_

He used to know everything, back when his father was alive. Or he thought he did. The truth is that he knew nothing at all. His youth was basically wasted. It’s a hard thought that his future might be wasted, too.

“Maybe it will just happen one day,” Chrom says. “That’s what it was like with Emm. One day she went to college, the next, she was so mature… Though I guess she kind of had to be…” Chrom sighs.

“And Emm is…?” Grima prompts. He hopes he isn’t supposed to know already.

“My older sister, Emmeryn,” Chrom says, smiling slightly. “Lissa and I live with her. She’s the best person I know. She’s working on getting a Master of Social Work right now. I wish you could meet her; you’d love her. Everyone does.”

“I... can imagine,” Grima says.

They linger a little longer after finishing their food. There’s a band playing music, not that Grima can actually make out any of the lyrics to their songs. Chrom doesn’t look like he’s having much luck discerning the words, either.

“You want to head back?” Chrom asks.

There’s not a lot left to do, unless they want to play more ridiculous games. But if Chrom gets any more temporary tattoos, he’s not going to have enough skin to put them on.

“It was pretty good for a five dollar event,” Grima says as they walk back to the dorms. “Although I guess I didn’t pay… Was it worth the ten dollars for you?”

He looks up at Chrom, who’s smiling.

“Of course. It was my first time going to a fair,” he says. “The experience alone is priceless.”

“Mm, yeah…” Grima smiles, too. “It was memorable, wasn’t it?”


	7. Chapter 7

Apparently, November is just one big month of stress for everyone on campus. Professors and students alike realize that there is only a month left to prepare for finals. Apparently a feud has erupted between Professor Excellus and Professor Cervantes in the political science department regarding who their department head favors. Grima has walked in on people crying in the library.

If this is November, he hates to think what finals week will look like.

But as far as Grima is concerned, this is a madness affecting other people. He isn’t affected, because he doesn’t give a damn about his classes. Robin isn’t affected, because he’s been diligently doing all his work from the beginning and has no need to panic now. And Chrom isn’t affected, because he’s nearly as diligent as Robin.

And so Grima is completely unprepared to walk up to Chrom’s door (the other residents of his hall now being familiar enough with him to open the door for him at his approach), knock once, and be greeted with… a distressed Chrom. The whites of his eyes are tinged with red as though he’s been crying.

“What… the fuck?” Grima pushes Chrom forward into the room, slamming the door behind him. “What the hell happened? Who fucking hurt you?”

“R-Robin, wait…” Chrom catches Grima’s arms, his eyes widening. “It’s… It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong. I just…”

Grima waits. His heartbeat quickens, and Chrom has to feel it. He has to; his hands are right over Grima’s veins. Maybe that’s why he continues, grimacing.

“It’s just that Emm’s got this thing she really needs to do over Thanksgiving, and yeah…” Chrom releases Grima from his grip. Stepping backwards, he sinks onto his bed. “So Lissa and I are just going to stay here.”

Grima frowns as he sits next to Chrom.

“So you can’t see her at all? Because she has something more important to do?” The thought leaves a bitter taste in Grima’s mouth. “That’s absolute shit.”

“I mean, she didn’t want this…” Chrom says. “But we’re talking about critical experience she needs for her degree. If she can’t do this now, it’s going to take her an extra semester to graduate. Lissa and I are in agreement here… We wouldn’t let her turn it down for us. But it’s still…”

“Fucking shitty,” Grima says. “It’s still fucking shitty.”

Chrom chuckles tiredly. 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“So what are you going to do, then?” Grima asks. “Sit here all week and feel like crap?”

“It’s probably time I started finals prep,” Chrom says. “And there’s a paper due the Monday after, anyway.”

Oh, no fucking way.

Grima has a much better idea.

… And of course Robin just has to flip out about it.

“What do you mean you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving?” Robin demands. “A-and why are you telling me this _two days_ before we’re supposed to drive out there!”

“I have more important things to do,” Grima says firmly. “Besides, I haven’t gone to Mother’s for Thanksgiving since I was twelve. What’s the fucking difference now?”

“You know what the difference is!” Robin exclaims. “We invited you and Father… every year… Father never wanted to see us, but he’s not _here_ now. What’s keeping you away this time?”

“Fuck you, you didn’t want to see Father anyway,” Grima snaps. His mother just wanted to look better for “trying” to keep the family together. She might have let Grima come over, but his father? No, she would have found a way to keep him out. 

Grima was the only one who would spend the holiday with his father. So what if neither of them could actually cook? His father just had the dinner catered. It was very fancy for just two people, but fucking whatever. It was good. They were happy.

“Has it occurred to you that maybe I just don’t want to go?” Grima continues. “Not everything’s about what Father wanted! I don’t like Mother, I don’t like that side of our fucking family, and guess what, I _do_ like it _here,_ so I’m staying here!”

“But…” Robin bites his lip, the fire in his eyes dimming. He sighs. “Yeah, I guess you should. You’ve been looking happier lately… not that I’ve seen you as much. I guess you _are_ doing things here.”

“What, did you expect me to be an outcast?” Grima sneers. He can imagine what Robin thought. Poor miserable Grima who can’t even make friends without blackmail involved. But he’s not that fucking pathetic!

… Is he? Hiding his identity from Chrom isn’t as bad as his father blackmailing a girl’s family. Chrom actually likes him. He could call himself whatever, and that would still be true, wouldn’t it? It’s a fucking Shakespearean truth; “that which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.” It’s not the same as with Aversa (not that that was his fault, anyway; he didn’t ASK his father to do that or anything, fucking hell).

“Well, I’m happy you’re _not_ an outcast,” Robin says. “I just… I just…” He shakes his head. “You could have told me sooner, you know?”

“You’re telling me you actually expected me to go with you?” Grima asks incredulously.

Robin snorts.

“Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” he says. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought… Or, well… Hope springs eternal, anyway.”

Grima scoffs.

“For fucks’s sake,” he mutters, shaking his head. It’s not as though he would be a desirable presence at the place. His mother will probably be relieved he’s not coming. Robin will probably forget everything once he’s being smothered with attention from her and the relatives. Morgan and Marc will surely be there. Robin will enjoy himself.

And besides, Chrom is happy with this turn of events.

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” he says, but his eyes crinkle with happiness. 

“You’re more fun than my family,” Grima says. “Can’t say they’ll be heartbroken without me.”

“Ah. Family drama.” Chrom nods. “I get it. Lucina’s parents wouldn’t talk to us for years because they hated my dad. They still don’t talk to us actually, even though he’s dead… they just can’t stop Lucina anymore, since we’re all here together and all.”

“Your father’s dead?” Grima’s breath hitches, and Chrom’s eyes widen suddenly.

“Er, not to get depressing or anything…” 

“No, wait,” Grima interrupts. “Mine is, too. That’s all I wanted to say. It’s… sort of the source of the family problems, you know?”

“Oh…” Chrom’s gaze softens. Grima wouldn’t trust the expression on anyone else; it would almost certainly signify pity… but he can’t imagine Chrom would look down on him. “Yeah, Dad’s the source of a lot of our problems, too. Mom died when Lissa was still a baby, and I’m not even sure if I actually remember her, or if I’m just making memories up… But anyway, Dad raised us until he died. He was a cop, and, er, kind of known for shooting first and asking questions later, you know?”

Grima nods in encouragement.

“And… I think he really thought he was doing the right thing… That less people would die overall if he struck first and hard... “Chrom grimaces. “It wasn’t right, though. It couldn’t have been. So many people were lost… But damn it, we’re not supposed to give people the death penalty for petty theft!”

“Is that why Lucina’s parents hated him?” Grima asks.

“Oh, not just them. I think he alienated everyone. We had one cousin around our age that we saw _sometimes._ I mean, it’s not that Owain isn’t great, but I’m pretty sure his parents only let him come over because they thought Dad would scare him into behaving like a model citizen. He’s got this dramatic vigilante hero thing going on.”

Chrom sighs heavily.

“And the thing is,” he says, “Dad kind of got what he deserved in the end. He walked into what he thought was some kind of drug deal with his guns blazing. Well, it _wasn’t_ a drug deal, one of the guys was in the military, and he pulled out his own gun and shot in self-defense the second he saw my father running at him and his friends.”

Grima grimaces.

“Yeah,” Chrom says. “It was pretty gruesome. They called me and Lissa out of class—we were in high school; I was only sixteen— and we went to the hospital and everything, but… It didn’t do him any good. He didn’t wake up before…”

Now Chrom is the one grimacing.

“Yeah, it’s just fucking like that, isn’t it,” Grima says. “My father died without a word, too. Didn’t even make it to the hospital. He just… Fuck, have you ever heard of Grimleal Corp.?”

“That business that went bankrupt over the summer?” Chrom asks. “Yeah, it was big enough to make the news… The company was like two hundred years old.”

“I guess you didn’t hear, then…” Grima says. “Before that, in December... Their CEO shot himself in the fucking head.” He grits his teeth. “The business was going down, and he didn’t want to deal with it. Or _something,_ I guess. Not like he ever told _me_ about it.”

“Oh, god.” Chrom puts his hand on Grima’s shoulder. “That’s not even a whole year ago. How are you even… I mean, I don’t think I stopped crying for at least a year, myself. Sometimes I think I’m ever going to fully stop, honestly.”

“I…” Grima swallows. Nobody knows how hard he cried at first; he wasn’t about to let anyone see him like that. And he wishes he hadn’t felt it at all. “I don’t want to cry for him. He didn’t bother to live for me, so why should I bother…”

He bites down on his lip. He’s saying too much. But it really isn’t fair. Everything he did was for his father. Why, damn it, didn’t his father care enough about him to live?

“It’s shit,” Grima growls. “It’s fucked up. It’s fucking up my life.”

“I know,” Chrom says. “I know what you mean…”

And obviously, Chrom does. He’s the only one Grima knows who really does.

“Thank god I met you,” Grima says. “I’m so fucking sorry about your Dad, but at least we both understand this shit.”

“Yeah… We have a lot in common, don’t we…” Chrom exhales. “Maybe it was fate for us to meet.”

“Fate…” Grima murmurs. The universe has screwed him over before… Maybe he’s owed some good fortune now. “Yes… I would like to think that this was meant to be.”


	8. Chapter 8

Robin does not try to argue with Grima again. He leaves as soon as his Tuesday classes are over. Had Grima not been in the room at the time, he might not have even known Robin was going; as it is, he gets only the briefest of goodbyes as Robin is shoving his baggage out the door.

Robin’s departure is more displeasing than Grima had expected, though. That night, he leaves the light on for an hour after going to bed before he remembers that Robin will not be there to need it. In the morning, the room is too quiet as he gets ready. There is no commentary over breakfast.

Of course, he’ll see Chrom later. Not until the evening, though, because apparently Chrom was serious about having to write an essay. He’s so diligent… Grima can’t even complain about Chrom wanting to work alone, not when Chrom says “You’ll distract me” while looking at him with a grin. Chrom doesn’t really want him gone, he knows… although this thought in fact makes it _harder_ for him not to head over to Chrom’s room anyway. Gaius is gone; doesn’t it suck to be alone?

… Grima thinks it sucks to be alone.

But it’s a good thing he isn’t with Chrom around lunchtime, because his phone unexpectedly begins to ring. It’s Robin. Robin, who never calls if he can get away with texting instead.

“What is it?” Grima answers immediately. 

“G--Grima…” Robin’s voice cracks. “Um… Sorry, I just…”

Grima swallows thickly.

“Why are you crying?” he demands. That can’t be good. Which family member died this time?

“I’m not…” Robin says.

“Bullshit. Tell me the fucking truth,” Grima says. “Robin… Why did you call me?”

“Because…” Robin exhales. “Because everyone is talking about Father, and you’re… the only one who gets it…”

Grima’s breath hitches.

“I thought I could handle it, but I _can’t,_ ” Robin continues. “And I thought you were going to be here. I _wanted_ you to be here, Grima…”

“I…” Grima swallows. “I think you’re just overwhelmed. What good would it do you for me to be there?”

If he were really there, Robin would surely wish he wasn’t.

“You could tell them all about Father,” Robin says. “Tell them he wasn’t some evil overlord. Tell them he _did_ care about more than just himself! I mean… he did care about you, didn’t he? You were his perfect heir… I always got the feeling… he was really proud of you…”

“Of… Of course he cared,” Grima says. Not enough to stay alive, but… Of course he was proud. Grima did everything he could to be what his father wanted. “He was so busy, but… Come on, Robin, he let me live with him! If he didn’t want us, he would have just foisted us off on Mother!”

“Yeah…” Robin sighs. “Yeah… He wasn’t heartless. But he wasn’t very nice to Mom, was he... And I guess that’s why all of her family just… despises him. But I can’t… I always hoped that something would change… that we could all come together again like when you and I were little…”

“Robin…” Grima interrupts. “That… was never going to happen…”

He’s not sure when their family became fractured beyond repair. Maybe it was when they were six and their mother tried to kidnap Robin (she had come back before any alerts had gone out… in fact, she had come back before their father noticed… but the divorce was surely inevitable after that). Maybe it was when Grima and Robin picked different custodial parents (it was always easier to avoid each other after that). Or maybe their family was doomed a long, long time ago—the moment a corporate heir fell for a woman who would never consent to being a trophy wife. But Grima had never once believed that they would ever be one big happy family.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have happened,” Robin says. “But now it _can’t._ And that’s the difference; you get it, right? Everyone thinks I’m an optimist, so I’m supposed to be doing really great… But how am I supposed to be optimistic when there really is nothing left to hope for?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Grima asks.

Robin _is_ an optimist. It’s annoyed Grima on more than one occasion… but it’s just the way Robin is.

“I’m deadly serious!” Robin exclaims. “You’re not the only one who gets to be sad, Grima. You’re always getting mad at me, but damn it, I’m upset, too! Nothing’s been right since Father died! I’m sick of pretending everything’s fine!”

“Of course nothing’s fine,” Grima snaps. “You think pretending ever solves anything? You’ve got a million fucking friends, don’t you? You ever try talking to them? One of them’s got to be the shoulder you want to cry on!”

Chrom understood Grima… Surely Robin has friends who would understand him.

“Who?” Robin asks. “You’re the only one going through this with me. And I’m not even sure my friends should hear about this. I mean, they all have their own troubles, you know? I don’t even know who would want to listen…”

“Try… Hell, I don’t know your friends,” Grima says. He can’t suggest Chrom for obvious reasons, but he wouldn’t even if he could. He and Chrom had bared their souls together; there was an intimacy to it that Grima can’t bear to let Robin into. “What about… Oh, Lucina!” Grima says in a flash of inspiration. She’s Chrom’s cousin, so she’s got to understand fucked up family dynamics. And she and Robin have spending a lot of time together lately. Maybe even as much as he and Chrom have been.

“What? No,” Robin says quickly. “I… I _like_ Lucina. I want to impress her, not… freak her out.”

“What, you want to wait until _after_ you’re dating to let her know you’re fucked up?” Grima snorts. “If she’s shitty, better find out now. And if she’s not shitty, she’ll help you. So just… don’t sit in your damn room and cry all week. You don’t have to be a goddamn ray of sunshine, okay? Just be yourself, and fuck any asshole who doesn’t like it.”

Robin chuckles weakly.

“I guess you’re right…” he says. “I… I’m sorry I called you like this… Maybe I should have tried my friends first, I don’t know… The thing is, even if you hate me… you’re still my brother, and sometimes I just… need to talk to you.”

“Robin…” Grima is glad his brother can’t see the pained expression he can’t suppress. “Tell me you don’t actually think I hate you.”

“I… I know you’re going through the same things I am,” Robin says. “I try to be understanding, but… It’s hard to tell, you know? You never want to do anything with me, or to even speak to me, really. Sometimes I really believe you do hate me.”

“You’re the one doing everything to avoid my presence,” Grima retorts. “Damn it, I followed you all the way to this fucking college I don’t even care about; I obviously don’t hate you! You’re the only one I’d go to _this_ length for!”

Robin pauses.

“Don’t play with me, Grima...” he says quietly. “For a second, I almost felt…”

“What, special?” Grima asks sharply. “That’s because you are, you idiot. We’re identical twins; we split from the same cell or some shit. There’s literally no way to get any closer to another person. I’m sorry if I’m being such a fucking shithead that you think I don’t even want to hear you speak. Truth is… I’d be sick if you stopped speaking to me… If you disowned me, or whatever…” His stomach churns just thinking about it. “But don’t… don’t you dare make me repeat any of that.”

“I...I never thought…” Robin trails off. For a moment, he is quiet, but then he sighs. “It sure would be nice if we had some of that twin-telepathy stuff people are always talking about… If I’d known all that, then maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Grima asks.

“Maybe… I don’t know, maybe this semester would have gone differently…” Robin says. 

Grima considers it. It may well have gone differently. But if he had spent more time with Robin, he would have spent less with Chrom… He doesn’t exactly like that, either.

“Well, now’s the time for your optimism, isn’t it?” Grima mutters. “The semester’s not over. Maybe we’ll get back on the same page before we get stuck snowed in together at Christmas or whatever shit’s bound to happen.”

“Yeah…” Robin’s tone becomes somewhat lighter. “Yeah… There’s still hope for us, isn’t there…”

Maybe there really is. When they finally end the call, Grima feels something like relief wash over him. 

He has already lost a father. He cannot bear to lose a brother, too.

And maybe Robin doesn’t actually want that, either.


	9. Chapter 9

“Robin, you aren’t actually planning to sit in your room and eat cereal for Thanksgiving dinner, are you?” Chrom asks, rifling through the various cereal boxes Grima has in his room. 

With Robin gone, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to have Chrom over… but he was not expecting Chrom to start inspecting his living space. It’s fairly amusing, though.

“It depends on whether you invite me to dinner or not,” he says, smirking. “I _do_ enjoy... “He grabs a box out of Chrom’s hands, glancing down at the label. “Count Chocula, though, so if you really want me, you might have to grovel.”

“Ha ha,” Chrom deadpans. “You’re eating in the dining hall with me and Lissa whether you like it or not. I’m sure they have cereal, too, if you’re dead-set on it.”

“Right… Lissa…” Grima glances away. “You’re sure she’s okay with this? We’ve only seen each other a few times. We’re not exactly best friends… let alone family.”

“Hey…” Chrom puts a hand on Grima’s shoulder. “It’s not like this is a typical Thanksgiving for us. And I know it can’t be for you, either… So don’t go back to being shy now. We’re going to have a great evening together.”

“Yeah, yeah…”Grima mutters. He would have been angry had he been uninvited now, but he doesn’t quite know how to respond to Chrom’s reassurance.

Still, Chrom’s laugh warms something inside him.

When they eventually make their way to the dining hall along with Lissa, they find it much less crowded than on any ordinary occasion. The place is mostly filled with graduate students staying to catch up on their research. A few professors are around, too—generally the ones known to spend more time in their offices than anywhere else. The meal offered is a veritable feast, but it’s impossible to feel like anything but an outcast in this setting.

“Um… So I guess maybe we should start by saying what we’re thankful for?” Lissa suggests. “I mean, Emm would…”

“Right. Of course.” Sadness passes over Chrom’s features for only a moment before he’s smiling again. “Lissa, did you want to start?”

“Okay,” Lissa agrees. “Well, even though Emm’s stuck at an entirely different campus today, it would be wrong if I didn’t mention her first. And then there’s all the new friends I’ve made here… All the old friends who still talk to me even though I went to college without them… Um, I’m happy that we get to hang out with Lucina again… oh, and I’m happy that she lets me go clothes shopping with her! I swear that girl has no eye for style…”

“I think her style’s fine,” Chrom says, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah, you would.” Lissa giggles. “You wore an honest-to-god _cape_ everywhere for three years.”

“There is nothing wrong with that cape,” Chrom says defensively. “It still looks good on me, I’ll have you know.”

Lissa just rolls her eyes.

“Well,” Chrom continues. “In addition to being thankful for my _perfectly normal_ fashion sense, I’m thankful for all the new experiences college has brought me… and especially for the new people I’ve come to know.”

His eyes meet Grima’s as he speaks. Grima suddenly feels too warm.

“Uh… yeah,” Grima says. “Same for me…”

But as he looks at Chrom, he can’t help but feel that his words aren’t enough. Indeed, he’s not sure there _are_ words that could be enough to convey exactly how important Chrom is to him.

Their gazes hold for longer than could be considered casual, but the moment is soon broken by the sound of clinking metal.

“Doh’ mihd me,” Lissa mumbles through a mouthful of turkey. She waves her fork in the air. “I jush thoughph we w’re dunn.”

Grima glances down at his plate. The food is not spectacular, but it is not unappetizing, either. It is not what he would normally be eating on this day, but…

He quickly shovels down a bite.

“Well? How is it?” Chrom asks. He raises his fork, but narrows his eyes playfully at it instead of placing it in his mouth.

“Eat it and find out, dummy,” Lissa says, elbowing her brother. “Robin’s not your food taster.”

Grima snorts.

“Now there’s a career,” he says. “What do you think, Mr. Future Governor? Would you hire me?”

“Absolutely not,” Chrom says, finally taking a bite. “If someone is trying to poison me, I’m not letting someone else take the fall.”

“What if it’s your own folly that brings you down?” Grima asks. “Have you ever heard of the composer Schobert? He died after cooking poisonous mushrooms into a stew. This was after being told they were poisonous, by the way. He looked for a second opinion and obviously found a bad one. And he poisoned his wife and children with that meal, too.”

“Oh…” Lissa frowns. “That’s so sad… But wait, if he got two different opinions, why didn’t he just ask for a third to clear it up?”

“I think the better question is,” Chrom says, “how much of a craving did he have for mushrooms that he would search for a second opinion at all?”

Grima snorts.

“Hell if I know,” he says. “I’m just pointing out that sometimes people screw themselves over. A food tester can’t save you if you’re dead-set on eating poison mushrooms.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have no preference for mushrooms of any kind,” Chrom says. “Now... can we please talk a little less about poison at the dinner table?”

Lissa laughs openly, and Grima can’t help but grin alongside her. 

He was wrong earlier. He feels nothing like an outcast here, not when he can practically feel something tangible between the three of them. A bond of camaraderie, invisible but nevertheless present.

All in all, it is a happy Thanksgiving meal. Not the happiest he has ever had… but compared to the misery he would have expected to feel even three months ago, it feels like a miracle.


	10. Chapter 10

In the days following the holiday, Grima notices a tension between himself and Chrom. It is not an unbearable tension… Indeed, it cannot be called unpleasant, exactly… but it is heavy, and Grima cannot ignore it.

It is not as though the cause escapes him. He knows what it means to be so drawn to another person… To want to touch, to be together as one. His track record should hold him back (a single on-and-off relationship with a foolish boy who liked to think himself a king has not exactly prepared him for something so much more important), but he is not in the habit of denying himself what he wants.

He wants Chrom. And from the way Chrom catches his eyes from time to time, he’s _sure_ their minds are in sync on this matter.

Therefore the result is inevitable. Grima’s hands grasp Chrom’s shoulders, keeping the two locked in an embrace as Grima presses them against the wall.

“If you hate this,” Grima says, his breath coming out shaky, “kick me out now. Before I’m too…”

He cuts himself off, because it’s already far too late. He is too in love with Chrom to receive any rejection without pain.

But he did not read Chrom wrong.

“Please…” Chrom whispers. He presses Grima closer, goading him on.

Grima is more than happy to respond. His lips crash against Chrom’s. Relief and excitement blend together; this is right.

“R-Robin…” Chrom breathes when they pull apart for air.

… No, it isn’t right. Robin has no place here. Chrom should be saying _his_ name, Grima… but he doesn’t know it.

Damn it. 

“Shh,” he whispers. “Don’t say anything…”

He kisses Chrom again, but not even Chrom’s enthusiastic response can soothe the churning anxiety in his stomach. How can he ever explain that he is not Robin… that he has truly fallen in love without ever once revealing his name...? Who would ever believe that?

But then again, this was fate. He has to hold onto that. The connection he has with Chrom cannot have been formed by mere happenstance. Something as trivial as a name cannot be enough to ruin it. 

Grima does not think he can bear it if it is.

“Chrom, you’re…” he gasps as he breaks away. “You’re… amazing, perfect; you’re… everything; I… I just…”

His face heats up as he fails to find the right words.

“A-Are you okay?” Chrom asks, his eyes widening in concern. “Robin?”

It’s the name that fucking gets him.

“I just need a day!” Grima exclaims. Robin will be back in the evening. Grima will invite Chrom over tomorrow, make him see the two of them together. Grima can’t stand to hide in the image of his brother for a second longer.

“O-Okay,” Chrom stammers. His face is as red as Grima’s surely is. “Yeah, of course, okay…”

“I just… have to… go,” Grima says. 

Rushing out of Chrom’s room to lock himself in his own provides him no solace, but at least he knows the exact second Robin returns from home.

When he and Robin first trade glances, an awkward silence ensues. There is no good way to transition from their last conversation over the phone to their reunion now. It would be uncomfortable even without the Chrom situation, but considering what Grima is going to have to say… The silence is excruciating.

Robin offers a tentative smile.

“Hey…” he greets. “Uh… So how was your holiday?”

“Fine,” Grima responds automatically. There is a pause, and he realizes that Robin might… prefer for him to continue. “It was good, actually. I spent it with friends.”

“Ah, well, that’s great,” Robin says. But a second later, he’s frowning. “Uh, I guess I just realized… I never really asked you about your friends. I… I don’t know who they are, and you haven’t talked about them…”

There’s a reason for that, of course… But maybe this is Grima’s opportunity.

“Do you want to meet one?” he asks. “Tomorrow evening?”

Robin blinks in surprise.

“Huh? Really?” Robin’s frown begins to ease. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Alright,” Grima says. Maybe things will work out after all. “It’s long past time…”

“Mm, yeah,” Robin agrees. “And maybe… you could meet my friends, too?”

“Sure…” Grima knows the names of Robin’s friends, but he can’t easily put faces to them. And maybe… Maybe he might even like them.

“I did what you said, you know,” Robin continues. “I talked to Lucina the other day. It was… uh, kind of embarrassing. And then, you know, she said some things, and I said some things, and…” Robin blushes. “Uh, anyway… I just wanted to thank you. I mean, you’re the one who got me through that first day.”

“It’s not surprising you’d freak out,” Grima says, looking away uncomfortably. “I didn’t think you were as fucked up as me, but since you are… Congratulations on not decking anyone in the face. I would have.”

“I don’t believe that.” Robin shakes his head. “Uh, and things sort of settled down, anyway… Morgan and Marc came over early on Thursday, and I basically spent the whole time hanging out with them.” He smiles. “They asked if they could come up and visit us on campus in the spring. You know, get an early start on visiting colleges.”

“Us?” Grima asks.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “What, did you think they wouldn’t want to see you? We used to have so much fun together… I think they miss that. They always ask about you.”

“What…” Grima grimaces. “What the hell do you tell them?”

“That you’re a natural genius acing your classes without trying,” Robin says. “By the way, this makes you an inspiration. I think Marc in particular is determined to outscore you in everything. Starting with the SAT.”

“Huh…” Grima doesn’t really care if Marc (or Morgan, for that matter) does better than him. But it is strange to think that his cousin would care enough to try. “I guess they can come. As long as they don’t think they can sleep in my bed.”

Robin chuckles.

“I don’t think they’d fit,” he says. “We aren’t the kids we used to be. And they aren’t exactly small, either.”

No… It won’t be anything like it was in the past. Nothing ever will be.

But maybe it’s time to stop holding onto the way things used to be.

“At least none of us are little brats anymore,” Grima says, his lips twitching into a smile. “But yeah, whatever. If our cousins want to kick our asses in school, let them come see what they’re up against.”

“It’s something to look forward to,” Robin says, smiling back.


	11. Chapter 11

The campus is bustling on Monday. Perhaps it only seems so in comparison to the emptiness over Thanksgiving, but Grima is nevertheless irritated by it. He gets bumped into no less than five times on the way to Chemistry.

It’s so stupid that his attendance is required. Even if he wanted to participate today, he could not. His mind is too preoccupied with planning for the evening. He has such an unusual thing to admit… 

He skips his history class in favor of holing up in his room. He still has hours to think this over. Robin won’t even be back until three o’clock, at least…

...Or at least, he _shouldn’t_ be. Grima is startled when the door slams open at one o’clock.

“What the _hell,_ Grima?” Robin shouts as he walks in. He throws his backpack haphazardly on the floor as he whirls around towards Grima’s bed. Fury sparks like lightning in his eyes.

“W-What?” Grima stands up. He is not afraid of his brother; Robin will not break him by looking angry.

“You know what you did!” Robin snarls. “You know, when you said you didn’t hate me, I thought it might mean that you cared about me. But no, apparently it just means that you like me enough to _steal my life!_ ”

“Oh…” Grima’s breath hitches. This can only be about one thing. “Did… Did Chrom say something, or…”

“Did Chrom say something?” Robin repeats mockingly. “Yeah, he said a lot of things, though it was a little difficult to make out through his _tears!_ ”

“What?” Grima’s eyes widen in horror. “He was crying? What happened?”

“What happened is that I kissed Lucina!” Robin exclaims. “Because I’m single and I like her! But I guess _someone_ here led Chrom to believe that _he_ was dating me. So how do you think he felt when he saw me kissing his cousin, huh?”

“Fuck,” Grima hisses. “Fuck, fuck.”

“I tried to explain, but who the hell is going to believe the ‘evil twin’ excuse?” Robin flails his arms in the air. “I just don’t get why you’d do this to me! Or to them; god, they were innocent! Do you just like hurting people? Does it take away your fucking pain if you hurt other people more?”

“Shut up!” Grima shouts. “Shut up! You lied first, you bastard! Chrom tells you about his sister and what, you suddenly forget you have a brother? A twin? Is that it? He thought you were an only child, Robin, did you want _me_ to correct him?”

“I said I didn’t have any siblings because I didn’t want to explain that our relationship is shit!” Robin snaps. “Don’t you dare compare us. You’ve been lying for what, weeks?”

“September,” Grima mutters. “I met him in September.”

“Oh my _god._ ” Robin “Is that… what you’ve been busy with this whole time? I thought you found _friends!_ ”

“I did!” Grima insists. “Chrom is my friend! He’s more than that! I fucking love him!”

“Grima…” Robin shakes his head. “There’s no way… He doesn’t even know you!”

“He knows me better than he knows you,” Grima says. “You see him twice a week in class. I see him almost every day. He understands me. Damn it, I… I told him about Father…”

“You did?” Robin’s eyes widen. 

“I can’t lose him…” Grima whispers.

Yanking his phone off his desk, he opens his messages. The last ones he and Chrom had exchanged were yesterday… before the kiss.

He takes a deep breath and begins to type.

**— Chrom, I’m sorry, okay? There really are two of us.**

He attaches a picture. He and Robin had taken it at their high school graduation because their mother made them. She had sent him a copy, and he hadn’t deleted it because… Well, there just aren’t that many pictures of the two of them together, both smiling. 

Chrom responds immediately.

**— Which one are you?**

Grima grits his teeth. It was hard enough to confess before. Now that Chrom is… hurt… it’s even harder to confess his… lie. He thought he was right to do it, at least at first… but it was still a lie.

**—Grima.**

His chest aches at the admission. He didn’t want it to be like this.

**— Robin didn’t know.**

He still thinks Robin shouldn’t have lied to Chrom in the first place. But it wasn’t meant to trick Chrom. That’s all on Grima…

His breath comes out as a sob.

“He has to know…” he says. “It wasn’t to make him feel stupid or anything. I just wanted to spend time with him…”

“Then you should tell him that,” Robin says. He gives Grima a pitying look. “If he’s willing to listen.”

“Yeah…” Grima would protest Robin’s pity were he not feeling just as pathetic as he must look. Instead, he turns back to his phone, typing another message.

**— Where are you? I need to see you.**   
**— Please, I have to explain.**   
**— I’m sorry. But please.**

Grima wouldn’t blame Chrom for not replying. But it takes only a minute (though it feels much longer) for his phone to vibrate again.

**— Are you the one who kissed me?**

Grima raises a hand to his lips. This only happened because he was selfish… and finally took too much.

But Chrom wanted it, too. He can’t forget the way Chrom responded to him so readily, how the two of them were in perfect sync.

**— Yes.**

He wants to believe that it was fate that they met. Fate that they fell for each other. Fate that they kissed.

But if it’s fate, then god, don’t let it be fate for them to fall apart. He would do anything to keep them together.

**— Then meet me in my room. I have something to say.**

Chrom’s message could mean anything. He might let Grima speak, or he might curse and then throw a scalding hot chocolate in his face.

Either way, Grima has to go.

Robin moves out of the way just in time to miss getting pushed over. 

Only a few flights of stairs separate Grima’s floor from Chrom’s. He can’t imagine what he must look like as he walks down, but he ignores three different people who ask him if he’s alright. He is not, but they can’t help. The only one who can help is…

“Chrom…” Grima’s eyes widen.

He hadn’t expected Chrom to be waiting right by the entrance to his hall. Damn it, he didn’t want to make this a public scene. The last thing he wants is to be some spectacle. A fucking miserable fool for people to gawk at. 

But if that’s what it takes to get Chrom to listen…

“Please,” he says. “This plan went to hell, but it was never supposed to hurt you. I’m just… fucking… stupid, okay? I…”

He pauses as the elevator opens up beside him. A woman gives him a strange look as she passes by to reach her own hall on the opposite side of the building.

Chrom’s eyes narrow.

“I invited you to my room, didn’t I?” Chrom asks rhetorically. He opens the door to his hall, giving Grima an expectant glance.

His words aren’t as cold as Grima thought they might be. But they’re cautious. 

Of course they are; Grima is a liar.

“Gaius isn’t here…” Chrom says as they walk. “He has class until six.”

“Okay…” Grima does not know how to respond. He doesn’t know what to do, either, when he enters the room.

Chrom immediately sits on his bed. But it doesn’t feel right for Grima to do so.

He stands in front of the door as Chrom looks him over. There don’t appear to be any hot drinks in the room, so he supposes he doesn’t have to worry about leaving with burned skin and a coat of sugar on him.

“Ro…. I mean, Grima.” Chrom frowns. “That will take some getting used to…”

Grima stays quiet. 

“So... “Chrom looks down before returning his gaze to Grima. “I just want you to explain how… How, uh…”

“It wasn’t about you,” Grima says quickly. “Shit, I mean not at first. You thought I was Robin, I was mad he didn’t tell you about me. I just wanted to get back at him. We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet, but I wasn’t going to show up. I thought you’d be mad at Robin, but I figured he’d clear things up. I never thought I’d see you again…” He raises his hands to his temples. “But you showed up to my room, and I let you in. And it was great, Chrom. The best time I’d had in... nine months. I liked you immediately.”

“So…” Chrom murmurs. “Er, you…”

“I just went with it!” Grima says. “You already liked Robin. I wanted you to like me. It’s stupid; I’m so fucking stupid. But please Chrom, everything else I’ve ever said to you was true. I never lied about anything important…”

Chrom grimaces.

“You don’t think your identity is important?” he asks.

“No,” Grima says. “I don’t care about my name… It doesn’t mean anything. For all I know, my parents could have mixed me and Robin up as infants. Maybe I was supposed to be Robin; I don’t fucking know!” He grits his teeth. “You already know most of the important things about me. You want to know everything?”

“I…” Chrom hesitates. “I… do…”

“I’m a fucking wretch,” Grima says. “I couldn’t make friends. I couldn’t make my father happy. I couldn’t make my brother understand me, and I sure as hell couldn’t make myself understand him. I couldn’t do anything. I was supposed to be my father’s heir. Everything was set out for me; everything was going to be easy…” 

His throat tightens, and he has to choke out his next words. 

“But nothing’s easy anymore, Chrom,” he says. “And you’re the only one that makes me feel like the world isn’t all that bad... Like I can keep going on with my life…”

“Grima…” Chrom murmurs. “Are you… crying?”

“Yeah…” Grima’s eyes are blurry with a film of tears. As he blinks, the water coalesces into a single drop. It slides slowly down his face. “I guess so…”

He doesn’t like to cry, especially in front of people. He must look weak. He must look hideous.

But if he has to look like this, he’s thankful that only Chrom is here. He still trusts Chrom. Trusts him to understand...

“Then…” Chrom says, blinking. “Our souls are on the same wavelength…”

Chrom raises an arm to his face, brushing tears out of his eyes.

“All I wanted to ask was how you felt about me,” he continues. “And I guess that answers that…”

He stands, crosses the distance between him and Grima, and… the next thing Grima knows, he is in Chrom’s arms.

“What?” he mumbles into Chrom’s shoulder.

“I fell in love with a person, not a name,” Chrom says. “I… only needed to know how you felt.”

“Oh…” Grima pulls back a little to look into Chrom’s eyes, though he tightens his grip on Chrom’s back. “You weren’t angry?”

“Heartbroken,” Chrom says. “When I saw Robin and Lucina, I thought… Maybe you decided she was better. And I was heartbroken.”

“Oh, shit…” Grima mutters. “I haven’t actually met Lucina… but I’d never pick her over you. I wouldn’t pick anyone over you…”

Chrom smiles faintly.

“Look…” Grima continues. “I’m so fucking sorry. You’ve been through so much shit, and I didn’t mean to make it worse. In fact, all I want is for you and me to go through life and just… not keep going through shit. Do you think that’s too much to ask for?”

“I don’t know,” Chrom says. “But that’s what I want, too… Grima, I…”

Their eyes meet, and Grima can finish the sentence.

“I love you,” he says.

Chrom kisses him.

And everything is right.


End file.
